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= 44 k)>-- 


eciai. 
- The Flying Machine Gives the Sign of Its Birth . 
Romances of the Lost and Found . . . 


The Pranks of Lightning 


“The” Allen, “The Wickedest Man in New York” . 


The Comédie Humaine of the Recruiting Station 
The vg pelea of the Battle-Ship 


Odd Things That the Chinaman’s Laws Make Him Do = 


a: ae = ae ~ 
very otranger jogged in t etersburg : 
Strange Places for Wedding Ceremonies 
An Old-Time “Sun” Reporter's Story 
A Graveyard 4,000 Miles Long « ; 
_The ening of Sam Brown , 


- 


Tie Scare 
The Burning Tage . 
By Dead Reckoning 


The Spy . 

On the rans Road. : 

In the Path of the Avenger 
An Heiress of the Area. . 

Voices of the Night. . a 

“ Rocks” Shangliss, Gambler . 

People’s Money . : 
Permission of the Butler 

The Copy of the Cameo . 


eee) 


Se 


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An Art-Full Lay. 


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ARBRSLOLES. 


SERLALS:; 


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POETRY. 


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Dr. W. H. Curtiss. 
Matthew White, Jr. 
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Crittenden Marriott. 
Walter Hackett . . 


sae News 5 

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Origin of ee Soufflées 

From the Country Press 

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AUGUSTE, 


1908. 


GIVES THE SIGN OF ITS BIRTH 


: - THAT ALL GREAT INVENTIONS GIVE 





= BY EDWIN MORRIS. 


HE year was 1713. A boy, whose name 

is recorded in history as Humphrey 

Potter, stood beside a steam-engine. 

His task was to open and shut a 

valve, letting steam into one end of the cylin- 

3 der and, after it had done its work, letting 
= it out again. 

= This English lad had that rare attribute of 

mind that is known as imagination. The 

a= more he thought about it, the more it seemed 

to him as if there must be an easier way .to 

let steam in and out of a cylinder. So he 

fastened a cord to the walking-beam to 

=e which the piston was attached, and the cord 

did the work that he had been doing. 
= Men had been working on steam-engines 
- since one hundred and thirty years before 








Christ, but this lad’s simple device brought — 


the invention a long step nearer perfection 
ver been before. Yet the steam- 
it then was in n idea, 1 was ot 








of practically no commercial value. It had 
evidently occurred to no one to use it to 
turn a wheel. Steam was admitted into only 
one end of the cylinder and the engine served 
no other purpose than to pump water in pon- 
derous, cumbersome ‘fashion. 

In 1763, James Watt, an instrument-maker 
of Glasgow, put a fly-wheel on one end of a 
shaft, a crank on the other, let steam into 
both ends of the cylinder instead of only 
one end, and the steam-engine leaped into 
being at a bound. 

After all the weary centuries of waiting, 


Watt had discovered the fundamental prin- 


ciples that underlie the translation of pent-— 
up steam into controlled, commercially valu- 
able mechanical action. 

~ That is the way with all inventions that — 


to the Doint — yo correct eo ee 





amount to anything—they develop slowly up — 





















THE 


_ forward with a rush. Never has there been 
an exception. : 

The telegraph cobwebbed the world in a 
few years after Morse struck the right com- 
_ bination. 

The locomotive, the telephone, the elec- 
_tric-light and the automobile came the same 

way. = 5 ag 

And that is the way the flying-machine is 

coming. — ; 
- More than that, the sign is present that 
the flying-machine has passed through what 


might be called the floundering-in-the-dark - 


period and now stands where the steam- 
engine stood when Watt put a crank and a 
fly-wheel on it. 

If so, the flying-machine may be expected 
to develop in the next ten years as rapidly as 
the automobile has in the last decade—and 
even school children can almost remember the 
time when “horseless carriages ” were made 
out of buggy-boxes, wire-spoked wheels, 
solid rubber tires, and one-cylinder engines. 

That would be coming pretty fast, of 
course. But look over the record of the 
three centuries during which man has been 


trying to fly and see if the flying-machine _ 


idea has not reached the fast-moving stage. 
Here is the record: 


Seventeenth century—An Italian al- 
chemist under the patronage of King 
James IV made a pair of wings and 

~ tried to fly from Scotland to France. 
Thigh broken in four places and col- 
lar-bone fractured. 


A LOCOMOTIVE WITH. 
IEGS TO PUSH IT 








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aoe, CON 
OU 


; poe nero : 
ES h | NEWCOMEN'S 
eh 8 || ATMOSPHERIC 





Eighteenth century—The Montgol- « 
fier brothers, of France; invented the 


balloon. Inflated first with hot air 
and smoke. Gas finally used. Many 
ascensions made in Europe and Amer- 
ica. 

Nineteenth century—No 
during the first decades. 
dred-year-old balloon still the only 
means of navigating the air. Various 
devices for steering gas-bags threugh 
the air tried and abandoned. Another 
inventor tried a big screw propeller 
driven by man-power. No good. 


THEN: 


Dr. Samuel P. Langley, American 
scientist, secretary of the Smithson-— 
ian Institution, in the last hours of the 
nineteenth century came forward 
with a new idea. He said that all the 
work of the last three hundred years 
had been wrong; that a_flying-ma- 
chine to be successful must not be ~ 
lighter than air, but heavier; that it~ 
must consist of broad, inclined sur- 
faces, driven against the air at great 
speed. 


progress 
The hun- ~ 


AW 


Like many another new idea, Langley’s. 
suggestion was pooh-poohed. The old dirig- 
ible-balloon scientists were sorry that he had 
made so great a mistake. ‘The newspapers 
ridiculed his theory. And, unforttinately for 
the peace of Langley’s last years, his air-ship 
plunged into the Potomac River gn what 







STEPHENSON'S 
ROCKET -1829 





| ESSAeS 


4 a 
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} 


Soy 
by 


Sy 










































a ; = 


_ THE FLYING-MACHINE 


oem ‘SS: 





was to have been its triumphant flight. This 
mishap scared off financial backers. Langley 
sickened and died. 

It will be recalled that Columbus also died 
without knowing that he had discovered a 
new world. And Langley, in his grave, his 
ait-ship a wreck at the bottom of.the Po- 
tomac, had nevertheless given the world an 
idea that was becoming more alive every 


minute. Inventors. everywhere suddenly saw 
the basic truth of his thought. A bird is 
heavier than air. So is a kite. These are 


the only two things that man knows that fly. 


So why shouldn't a flying-machine be heavier 
than air? 

The aeronautical part of the scientific 
world gradually began to turn toward Lang- 
ley’s idea. And the startling fact is that 
from that moment men began to fly. In 
America, in France, in England, in Italy, in 
Germany—wherever Langley’s idea of the 
aeroplane was tried—remarkable results were 
obtained. Almost every flight established a 
new record. That which was regarded as 
impossible one year was done with ease the 
next. And the upshot of it all is that the 
Wright brothers, of Dayton, Ohio, are under 
“contract to turn over to the United States 
government the last of this month a flying- 
machine that will remain in the air at least an 
hour, carry two persons whose combined 
weight shall be three hundred and fifty 
pounds, and also have enough fuel aboard to 
make a flight of one hundred and twenty- 
five miles. 

Yet, startling as are these conditions, the 





Wright brothers declare they have a machine 
that can more than fulfil them. They say 
they have already traveled thirty-two miles 
in forty minutes, and could have gone far- 
ther if it had seemed desirable, all things 
considered, to do so. 

While the Wright brothers were giving 
such remarkable exhibitions at Kill Devil, 
North Carolina, last May, Henry Farman, 


of England, was making almost as wonder-— 


ful flights in Belgium, and Leon Delagrange, 
a French aeroplanist, was flying long dis- 
tances over Rome. Farman won a wager 
made a few months before that within a 
year he would build an aeroplane that would — 
fly four thousand and thirty-three feet with 
two men aboard, Delagrange made fifteen 


flights over Rome in one day. On the last~ 


trip he traveled six miles. 


And all this in th8 face of the fact that — 


fifteen years ago they were still flying the 
balloons that were invented in the eight- 
eenth century! : 

Do not such results seem to justify the 


conclusion that the basic principles of aerial — 


flight have been discovered? 

And what are those principles? Perhaps 
this is a simple way of explaining them: 

Take a kite, tie a string to it, and fling it 
into the wind. The kite flies. Why? The 
string holds the face of the kite at an angle 
against the moving air. The kite, prevented 
by the string from moving in the same direc- 
tion as the. wind, moves in the direction of 
the least resistance—upward. 

Reverse most of these conditions and you 


—" 
— 


we 
eS ——_ 





GIVES THE SIGN OF ITS BIRTH, 3 


es iar 





have a flying-machine. Here you have the 
machine moving against the wind instead of 
the wind moving against the kite. You 
hhaye the engines of the machine jamming it 
- against the air, instead of the, kite’s string 
holding it against the wind. And whereas the 
kite stands still, so far as moving with the 
wind is concerned, the flying-machine moves 
-swhile the air stands still. 

- Putting it in- still another way, the air 
blows against a kite, and a flying-machine is 
blown against the air. 
- rapidly enough assumes something of the 
nature of a solid—that’s what lifts the kite. 
-.. Hit the air hard enough and it assumes 
something of the nature of a solid—that’s 
cae ~ what makes the aeroplane fly. 
Bee _ The wings of an aeroplane in flight tend to 
~ compress the air between the wings and the 
earth. Compressed air will support weight. 
‘Thus, an aeroplane is a machine for com- 
‘pressing the air under it and floating on its 

surface. 

That’s what a hawk does when it flaps its 
wings. And when the hawk “floats” with 
extended, motionless wings, it is becatse its 
weight compresses the air as it blows against 
the bird’s slanting wings. In flying, the air- 
compression is only momentary, and must be 
renewed with uninterrupted wing-flapping. 
In floating there need be no wing-flapping, 
but the wind must keep blowing—wedging 
itself, as it were, between the earth and the 

_pird’s slanting wings. 

Thus it will be seen that the Italian al- 

chemist who strapped wings to his shoulders, 

































Air that is moving - 


‘AN ITALIAN AUTOMOBILE. 
OF SIXTY YEARS AGO 


af 


and tried to fly from Scotland to France, 
was really on the right track—he had a 
heavier-than-air machine. His difficulty lay 
in the fact that his wings were not large 
enough to compress sufficient air to support 
his weight, while if they had been he would 
have lacked power to operate them. The 
modern aeroplane, with its huge inclined sur- 
faces and gasoline engines, remedies these 

two defects. = 

When the idea was first conceived of using 
mechanical power to accomplish aerial flight, 
the success of the undertaking was all but 
despaired of because of the great weight of 
the engines. But with the perfection of the 
gasoline engine this difficulty has been re- 
moved. Requiring neither boiler nor much. 
fuel, the gasoline motors now used in flying- 
machines weigh only two and three-tenths 
pounds to each horse-power. The Wright 
brothers, in their latest machine, use an 
engine that develops thirty horse-power and 
weighs sixty-six pounds. 

With the question of power out of the way, 
only two problems remain to puzzle the aver- 
age flying-machine man—how to balance the 
machine in varying air-currents and how to 
keep the engine cool. The Wright brothers 
appear to have solved even these perplexities 
more or less satisfactorily, though no one 
except themselves yet definitely knows by 
what means they have done*so. 

Gasoline engines, with their rapid explo- 
sions of gas in the cylinders, quickly become 
heated unless means are taken to keep, them 





cool. Many a flight has been stopped in five - 


Seti 





_ ther operation was impossible. 


AN AMERICAN (Y 
AUTOMOBILE Ny 


- OF 1896 


ass 
ae) 


minutes because the temperature of the cylin- 
der had been raised to such a point that fur- 
With auto- 
mobiles the engines are kept cool by the cir- 
culation of cold water through coils of pipes. 
But this requires a considerable weight of 


water—weight that the average flying-ma- 
‘chine has not, up to this time, been able to 


carry. 

The difficulty of balancing is a greater 
problem, however, than that of cooling the 
engines. Both the direction and the intensity 
with which the air blows are constantly 
changing. Furthermore, aeronauts. have 
learned from experience that at any moment 
they are likely to run into what they call 
“holes” in the atmosphere. Columns of air 
seem to be rushing downward with a whirl- 
ing’ motion, just as water in a washbowl 
eddies and curls when the plug is pulled out 
of the bottom of the basin. Balloons, on 
such occasions, fall rapidly, even though all 
the ballast be thrown overboard. 

When a flying-machine runs into sttch a 
“hole” the first thing the operator must do, 
of course, is to drive his machine through it 
and get into the settled air. This is not 
difficult, but the trouble arises in causing the 
machine to regain its balance after passing 
over the rough place. 

Until the Wrights devised their later ma- 
chines, it was the custom of operators, both 
here and abroad, to accomplish the balancing 
feat by shifting the weight of their own 
bodies from side to side, much as a bicylist 
maintains the equilibrium of his wheel. But 


AP 


SS nHORAL SUE 


| 
lh i 
ica mI 


“SANTOS DUMONTS DIRIGIBLE 
BALLOON - 1901 


AUTOMOBILE. 


the Wright brothers are now said to have 
invented a contrivance that automatically ad- 
justs their machine to the varying condi- 
tions of the-air. ; 
Probably the mechanism, whatever it may 
be, changes the slant at which some of the 
planes stand to the wind, much as a hawk 


adjusts its wings to the breeze when it is 


balancing in the air. 
Summed up in a, nutshell then, the flying- 
machine situation is this: 


Power-driven machines that are — 
heavier than air can: fly. : 

The Wright brothers have a ma- 
chine in which they have flown thirty- 
two miles in forty minutes. 


Then these questions arise: 


If it is already possible by means 
of mechanical power to raise an air- 
ship from the earth, keep it in the 
air forty minutes during which time 
it travels thirty-two miles, is it not 
reasonable to assume that at last the 
correct principles that underlie aerial 
flight have been discovered? 

And is it not within the bounds of 
probability that the _ flying-machine 
will be developed and improved as 
rapidly as were the locomotive, the 
telegraph, the telephone, and the 
automobile? 


The last question was asked of E. L, 
Jones, editor of Aeronautics, a New York 








6 THE LIVE WIRE. ’ se 


magazine that is devoted to the science of 
navigating the air. Mr. Jones, in replying, 
used the development of the automobile as 
an illustration. The automobile, in 1895, 
was, to all intents and purposes, unknown. 
Occasionally a “horseless-carriage” ap- 
peared in the streets, coughing, sputtering, 
and stopping. Owing to the development of 
high-power light-weight engines, automo- 
biles -within six years became not only 
things of beauty, but as common in cities and 
eS as trucks. 

. Jones said that present indications 
ote to the conclusion that within ten years 
flying-machines will be sufficiently numerous 
to attract no more attention than does a 
steam yacht on the Hudson. In his opinion, 
the flying-machine for some time to come 
will be the rich man’s toy, carrying him to 
and from his office perhaps, or to such places 
of pleasure as he may choose. 

What the flying-machine. may eventually 
come to be no one of course now knows, but 
Mr. Jones sees no present prospect that it 
will ever compete with trains and ocean 
liners. This is because the doubling of the 
weight of a flying-machine necessitates the 
increasing of the power something like eight 
times. Bigger engines mean more fuel. 

Therefore, unless future invention shall 
stirmount these barriers, flying-machines will 
confine their operations to carrying probably 
not more than eight or ten persons. The 
flights may reach a thousand miles—or per- 
haps the continent may be crossed by stop- 
ping every few hundred miles for fuel—but 
it does not seem likely that there will be any 
“air-ship expresses’’ consisting of huge 
cars, each carrying a train-load of human 
beings. 

Mr. Jones is also of the opinion that the 
public has an exaggerated idea of what the 
flying-machine may accomplish in the line of 
speed, The popular idea is that aerial travet- 


ers may some day go whizzing through the 
air at the rate of one hundred or two hun- 
dred miles an hour. 

Mr. Jones believes the correct figures are 
more likely to be found between forty and 
seventy-five. He is not sure—no one can be. 
At the birth of a really great invention no 
one has ever yet dreamed wildly enough to 
picture half that it was destined to accom- 
plish. Daniel Webster thought that locomio- 
tives would never amount to anything. He 
said that once tinder way, they could not be 
stopped—that they would run off the track at 
the end of the line, wreck the station, and. 
kill everybody aboard. Morse never suspect- 
ed that telegrams would be sent from mid- 
ocean without the aid of wires. Edison, 
himself, could hardly have realized, when he 
invented the electric-light, all that it was 
to become. 

It may be so with the flying-machine— 
the new, strange thing that, hatched in the 
brain of Langley, has been developed and at 
last cast into the winds by the Wrights. Per- 
haps it will yet fly one hundred and fifty or 
two hundred miles an hour as Alexander 
Graham Bell, inventor of the telephone, last 
summer said it would. Maybe it will carry 
a hundred passengers instead of ten. Pos- 
sibly it will cros§ oceans and continents in 
single flights. These things can be deter- 
mined only by the future. 

But this we now know: 

After three hundred years of futile effort, 
man can fly! 

“Fly”—that’s. the word. The day of 
floating on gas bags is past. Man goes aloft 
and afar as a bird goes—under power that he 
himself controls, in the direction that pleases 
him best, and, within wide limits, at such 
velocity as he wills. 

Surely the air is joining the land and the 
water in coming under= the dominion of 
human beings. 


IF WE SHOULD MEET ANOTHER WORLD. 


E are spinning through space at the rate 
of more than a thousand miles a min- 
ute. 
another world moving at the same speed? 
In the first place, the heat generated by the 
shock would be so great that both worlds 
would be transformed into gigantic balls of 
vapor many times the size of the earth to- 
day. 
the inside of the earth is composed of 
solider and colder matter than scientists be- 
lieve it to be. 
Although there is small chance of any such 
aerial collision taking place, scientists have 


What would happen were we to meet | 


This, however, might not happen if- 


already calculated the probable results fairly 
accurately. One has expressed the amount 
of heat that would be generated in this way. 
It would be sufficient; he says, to melt, boil, 
and completely vaporize a mass of ice seven 
hundred times the bulk of both the colliding 
worlds—an ice planet one hundred and fifty 
thousand miles in diameter. x 

Scientists have often corisidered the pos- 
sibility that the end of the earth would 


®come about in this way. 


Certain it is that planets as great as the 
earth have been destroyed by coming into 
collision with other huge bodies. 











Jong 


N the principal room of a rude cottage 
on the outskirts of the city of Moscow, 
seven men sat around a table. Though 
the one wretched candle flickered and 

flared, there was, nevertheless, sufficient 
light to reveal their faces. 

For the most part, they were wretchedly 
dressed in the ordinary garb of Russian 
peasants, and their hair and beards were 
and unkempt. There was nothing 


“about them to indicate to the casual ob- 





Y 











about the table, 


remarked in his gentle voice. 


server the possession of any unustial amount 
of intelligence, and yet the doings of that 
little band held an entire government in 
terror. 

Safe behind his palace gates, the mighty 
Czar of All the Russias turned pale at the 
mention of their names, and trembled at 
the very thought of them. These men were 
the head of the Terrorist Revolutionary 


Party of Russia. 


For a long time they had sat in silence 
I steadily staring at the 
candle in the center. No one, indeed, 
seemed aware of another’s presence, and it 
was not until their leader spoke that any of 
them made the least movement. 

He was a slight, boyish little man, this 


leader, with a face fair as a girl’s and a 
_ voice as gentle as a woman. 


possible to believe that it was this boy who 
had inspired a hundred assassinations and 


who had ‘spread throughout official Russia 
a terror stich as was never known before. 
g as well face the truth,” he 





“We migh' 
a SOrer nets 


Tt seemed 1m-. 


was impossible. 


there is a spy among us. Somewhere there 
is a traitor who knows our secrets and mee 
trays them to the government. 

“That is why we have persistently failed: 
That is why our efforts are always fore- 
stalled. Had it not been for this one man, 
long ago the Russian Republic would have 
been a fact. Some day I hope to learn his 
name.” S 

He did not raise his voice. It was as 
gentle as ever, yet at the final statement 
every person at the table shuddered. Tt 
was strange to see the burly, stalwart men 
tremble before this slender boy with the 
tender voice and melancholy eye. 

“ We are now,” he continued, “in:the last 
ditch. To-morrow we must play our last 
card. The Czar arrives from St. Peters- _ 
burg at noon, and on his way to the palace — 
from the railroad station he must die. 

“Beaten though we have been, we shall 
be beaten no longer. To-morrow sees the 
dawn of hope for Russia.” = 

The words had scarcely left his lips, 
when the one door of the room was thrown 
violently open and a white-faced man leaped 
in among them. 

“The police!” - 
“They are upon us.’ 

‘Not a soul spoke. 


he exclaimed hoarsely. 


A tense silence greeted 


the man’s announcement, though every one 


in the room leaped to their feet and stood 
staring at their comrades with wide eyes and 
faces white with fear. All knew that escape 


in a trap. = 
Only the leader: retained his ‘composure. 


‘With the utmost calmness he rolled and : = 


_lighted a SIaSEOLS and then stood wa iti 





ng. = 











They were caught like rats 3 





> men. 





— ‘THE LIVE WIRE. 


+ 


It was not for long. Almost upon the 
heels of the man who brought the evil 
tidings, there came from outside the tramp 
of feet and the rattle of swords. Then the 
door was once more thrown open and there 
appeared a man dressed in the uniform of a 
lieutenant of police. 

“You are under arrest,’ he announced 
crisply, “ in the name of the Czar.” 

The room seemed fairly filled with his 
There were at least twenty.of them, 

‘many armed with rifles. In silence that 
- was deadly, they took the prisoners with the 

calm precision of a well-ordered plan and 

lined them against the mud wall of the bare 
room. Then the lieutenant turned to the 
men with the rifles. 

“Get ready,” he ordered. 

Without a word, his subordinates took up 
their position on the other side of the room. 
Then for the first time since the arrival of 
the police, the leader of the prisoners spoke: 

so TS it permitted to ask,” he inquired 
gently, “what is the meaning of this 

extraordinary procedure ? ” 2 

The officer in charge of the men turned 
on him roughly. z 

“Tt means that I’m going to haye you 
all shot, here and now.’ 

To this the leader made no reply. Shrug- 
ging his shoulders, he went on smoking his 
cigarette placidly. 

The officer turned to his men. 

“Prepare to shoot,” he ordered. Aim!” 

Slowly the policemen raised their rifles 
until each covered the heart of one of the 
helpless men facing them. Then followed 
a terrible pause. How long it was, no man 
who lived through it could ever say, but not 
one of those in the room that night ever 
thought of it again without a shudder. 

“Fi—” the fatal word was about to drop 
from the lieutenant’s lips, when a ery, shrill 
and terrible, rang through the room. It 
came from the mouth of one of the conspir- 
ators against the wall, a tall, broad-shoul- 
dered man with a heavily-bearded face. 

“Wait!” he cried. “ Wait!” 

As he uttered the words, he sprang for- 
ward and caught the lieutenant by the arm. 

“Vou must not let them shoot me!” he 

_ screamed, falling on his knees. “You must 
not! I am Zubeloff of the third section. 

It is 1 who have kept you informed of these 

men’s movements. It is I who gave in- 

formation of their attempt upon the Czar’s 
life to-morrow and advised arresting them 
to-night, For Heaven’s sake, don’t shoot 
me!” - 

At last!” 

It was the leader of the Terrorists who 
spoke, and though the words were uttered 
scarcely above a wnispes, they rang through 


the room more clearly than the other’s 
scream of terror. 

“ At last,” he purred, “we have found out 
who the spy is.” 

Before the astonished spy could speak or 
move, he found himself set upon by the 
men he had believed his allies, bound and 
gagged. He had been caught at last by a 
trick so simple that it would scarcely have 
deceived a child. 

Even in his blind terror, as he watched 
the pseudo-police following the directions 
of the leader of the Terrorists, he realized 
this, and his heart grew hot with hate. 
Securely bound, he was thrown at last in a 
corner. Then the leader came and stood 
over him. ; 

“As you have informed us,’ he mur- 
mured, “that the police are soon to pay us 
a visit, we cannot remain to keep you com- 
pany, but in order-that you may not feel 
lonely, we are going to leave something to 
amuse you.’ 

As he spoke he produced a bomb, attached 
to which was a fuse. This he placed on the 
floor directly in front of the helpless man’s 
eye and, taking from the table the candle, 
touched it to the fuse. 

“Tt will burn for ten minutes,” he ex- 
plained gently. “If your friends come 
within that time, you are saved. If not, 
well, you will be an example for the rest 
of the police of the advantages of obeying 
orders promptly.” 

Without another word he turned and 
motioned his men from the room. In 
silence they went out, the leader following. 

For a time the sheer terror of his position 
overwhelmed the unfortunate man. He 
could neither think nor realize his peril. 
Blind with fright, he lay waiting with closed 
eyes and clenched hands, the perspiration 
rolling from his body. = : 

Suddenly he nerved himself and opened 
his eyes. The room was absolutely dark 
except for one tiny spark that crept nearer 
and nearer and nearer the deadly bomb. 
He saw that the fuse was half burned and 
that he had but five minutes to live. 

Less than five minutes. Four minutes. 
Less. than that. Would they come? Oh, 
Heaven! would help come in time? 

The seconds were flying by with astonish- 
ing speed. There were less than three 
minutes of the fuse left now, less than 
three minutes of life. 

He watched the spark, his face green with 
terror, his eyes starting from his head. 
The fuse had almost gone. There was 
scarcely a minute and a half more of it to 
burn, and then death. 

_ With an effort that was almost super- 
human, he closed his eyes, Like a flash, an 


















“You MUST NOT LET THEM SHOOT ME,” HE SCREAMED, FALLING ON HIS KNEES. 


incredible number of memories swept over 
him. The picture of his home far away 


upon the Volga suddenly rose before his 


mind in its minutest detail. 

His father was sitting in the door, 
smoking after his day's work. Another 
picture crowded it away. It was that ofa 
dancing-girl in a theater in Odessa. He 


had seen her but once, he had not thought ; 


of her for years. 


He thought of his. Saene of his mother. 
‘Hi soley ambitions long aso cast aside ; 


THE StY. = es 


was attached a burnt-out fuse. 














“you musT not!” 


and forgotten, and then he opened his eyes 
once more. The minute and a half had 
passed. It was but ten seconds more before 


the fuse would reach the bomb. 


Fifteen minutes later the police arrived. 
They found a dead man whose face was so_ 
distorted that it was impossible to recognize 
him, lying beside an empty bomb, to which 


surgeon bent over him. 
std Dead, ue ae said. “ Dead from fear.” 











The nelies =. 





BY 





IZOLA FORRESTER. 


More Than Half a Million Dollars Worth of Diamonds, False Teeth, Wooden 
Legs, and Other Articles Go Astray on New York Trains 
and Ships Every Year. 


A and Ma Knickerbocker are awfully 
absent-minded people. As they ram- 
ble back and forth on their little is- 
land, and trot over ferries, and out 

of town by train or steamer, they lose 
about six hundrd thousand dollars worth of 
articles every year. 

“Rive hundred a day,” said one traction 
official, spreading out 4 book where you 
could find anything from a ten-thousand-dol- 
lar pearl necklace to a crate of live chickens, 
all carefully tabulated and described. “ And 
that’s only on street-cars and elevated trains. 
We don’t touch the out-of-town traffic. Did 
you see that young lady who just went 
out?” 

We had seen her. She was a very charm- 
ing young lady, all in spotless wash-silk, 
with an outing hat pinned jauntily on her 
curls. Real curls, too, they were. 

“She’s from some Jersey resort. Lost a 
gold locket on the Subway coming up from 


South Ferry. It was turned in all right last 


night, Did you see her face when she de- 
scribed it?” he smiled slighfly. “It was en- 
- graved ‘Heart Throbs,’ she said, and was 

absolutely of no value except to owner. Oh, 
yes, she owned the locket and got it.” 





Ba tom 


More than two thousand cars roll over the 
rails in Manhattan, in one day. About two 
million people ride back and forth on them. 
Their little absent-minded ways give em- 
ployment to hundreds of persons who do 
nothing for a living except keep tab on the 
“Lost and Founds.” ~*~ . 

At the ferries, steamship lines, and railroad 
stations the hurrying travelers leave behind 
them thousands of dollars worth of property 
and. valuables. Yet it is estimated that over 
two-thirds finds its way back to the owners, 
either through advertising, or applying at the 
“Lost Articles’ window. 

“The women lose just three times as much 
as the men,” said a man who had gathered 
some special “ points” on the romances and 
adventures of things that go astray. Here 
is his list for last year: 


915 watches. 324 lockets. 
186 earrings. 485 bracelets. 
376 brooches. 312 diamond rings. 


710 diamond pins. 175 diamond studs. 
485 chains and fobs.873 pocketbooks. 
64 necklaces. — 821 handbags. 


“And those, mind, only represent jewelry 
and portable cash in pocketbooks,” he added, ~ 








—— 








~ parrots, 


- ROMANCES OF THE LOST AND FOUND. 





turning to another list. “Besides that we 
have a wagon-load of umbrellas, two bushels 
of eye-glasses, over a bushel of keys, thirty 
thousand gloves, one thousand One hundred 
men’s overcoats, and one thousand eight 
hundred women’s garments. 
“Those are ordinary, losable things, one 
might say, but can you tell me why on earth 


~ people travel around and lose rat-traps, elec- 
tric signs, blackjacks, bust-forms, false teeth, 


~-and glass eyes, also wooden legs and babies? 
Also dogs, cats, snakes, canaries, pet mice, 
rabbits, and guinea-pigs? 

“One woman came in here and asked if 
we had found a framed picture of Lincoln 
and a clothes-wringer on an Ammex ferry- 
boat. We had. She claimed them. A man 
journeyed all the way in from Ocean Gtove 
after a lost bathing-suit and a box of com- 
plexion wafers. 

“There’s a crate of live chickens that 
haven’t been claimed yet, and they live com- 
fortably down in the main office, and. lay 
eggs in as placid and homelike a way as in 
their own Jersey barnyard.” | 
- Up at the Grand Central Station they tell 
a story of a pretty girl passenger who, one 
Saturday afternoon recently, had to wait for 
her train. The station was crowded with 
the usual week-end throng, and she found a 



















































































a i su 





zine, waiting for the man with the mega- — 
phone to call the train for White Plains. 

Next to her sat a young man, rather list- 
less and bored. Suddenly the White Plains 
train was called. The pretty girl in red 
jumped up hurriedly and ran toward the 
concourse. 


Then did the listless ence anes up, i6e = 


there, right under his very eyes, Cinderella 
had dropped her slipper. It was a small, 
tan slipper, with a natty leather bow twisted 
under a steel buckle. 

Without an instant’s thought he grabbed 
it up and ran after the girl in red. She had 
vanished in the crowd. He made for the 
White Plains local gateway. Yes, there was — 
a flying glimpse of red in the distance. 

“All aboard!” yelled the man with the 
megaphone. The last one through the gate 
was a young man racing for the train, and — 
in his hand was the tan slipper. He had — 
barely time to swing up on the last plat-— 
form. 
been through for many a day. All through — 
the length GE that crowded train he paraded, 
hunting for a lost Cinderella all in red. 
And when at last he found her—_ 

That’s all. The official records go no fur- 
ther. The lost goods were returned, and no 





UP. 





seat facing the big clock, and: read her on ee 


Then came the worst ordeal he had 

















4s 














‘IT WAS A SMALL, TAN SLIPPER, with A NATTY LEATHER BOW TWISTED. UNDER A STEEL SS 
; BUCKLE. WITHOUT AN INSTANTS THOUGHT HE GRABBED | iT : : 
RSE ae ee 






= his big book. 











“questions FO Possibly there was a re- 
ward, but it is not on the records. 

“Here is a funny one,” said the keeper of 
the records, pointing to a four-line item in 
“Last September a middle- 

aged lady from Larchmont got off a New 
_ Haven local here, walked out of the station, 
and as soon as she had crossed Forty-Sec- 
ond Street she missed a box she had car- 
ried. Next morning this ad. came out in 


z the. papers, | ‘and had everybody hustling: 


- Lost—Small, black tin box, on New York, New Haven 
and ‘Hartford Railroad train at 10 a.m., Sept. 16. 
$10,000 ‘reward for its return with contents. No 
questions. -B. F. N. 806, 214 Montague Street, 
‘Brooklyn. 1 
“There was three hundred thousand dol- 

lars in money, jewelry, securities, and pa- 

pers in that small tin box, yet it has never 
turned up, and the lady never gave any rea- 

‘son as to why she was carrying around a 

box containing a fortune under her‘arm. 


A Fortune in a Cigar-Box. 
“Tt seems as if people think the worst 


~ kind of receptacle they hide away valuables 


in, the less likely they are to lose them. 
> One of our trainmen found an ordinary 

-cigar-box lying on the platform’ at Port 
Chester. He took it in the baggage-room, 
~ tossed it under the counter, and forgot all 
about it until a woman came rushing into 
the station about an Hour later, asking if 
anybody had found her cigar-box. 

_“*T found a cigar-box,’ said the man, will 
Fenlon. ‘What was in it?’ 

«<«Twenty thousand dollars,’ gasped the 
woman. Fenlon took the box out from 
under the counter and opened it. It was 
packed with hundred-dollar yellow-backs. 
He handed it over, and got five dollars re- 
ward. 

“Here's another one: 


Gop Cross, set with diamonds, was lost either in 
station or on train going to Fort Worth, Tex. 
“The girl who lost that made an awful 
fuss. She was bound for Forth Worth, and 
the cross was very valuable, besides being 
a keepsake. Well, it was a rainy day, but 
that didn’t fit into the story till later. She 
missed the cross as she was buying her 
sleeper. 
"Next to her stood a man who helped 
her hunt for it. He carried an umbrella. 
That afternoon we got a wire saying the 
man had‘ found the cross in his umbrella 
when he had got off the train at Buffalo, and 
opened it. It was sent on to the girl, and 
the last I heard was that it was the sole 
ornament worn by the bride. I guess when 
a thing like that happens, if anybody’s got 
a bit of superstition. in their make- “up, they’ll 
follow the lead.” 
Besides sdverigng all lost articles found 





THE LIVE WIRE. - 





on the traction lines, a careful watch is kept = 


of the lost column for possible owners. 


One day a valuable purse, made of the skin 


of a Gila monster mounted in gold, was 
handed in by a conductor. It was adver- 
tised the next day.’ 


Lost—Giit lady’s bag fullof tender association. Con- == 


tents of value only toowner. Liberal reward. 


“We knew this one was the ‘gilt lady’s’” 
bag all - right,” 
“There wasn’t anything in it but love-let- 
ters, so when we saw the tender-association 
ad. we thought sure it was a case of breach 
of promise. But when she came down and 
asked for it, there wasn’t a laugh in the 
place. Shé was in mourning, and the letters 
were the last ones he had written to her. 
Women are queer. You ought to have seen 
her grab that bag. 

“Rewards? Oh, they don’t amount to 
much. One conductor came in here with a 
Tiffany pearl necklace valued at $2,500. He 
got two dollars reward. A few days later, 
another conductor on the same line picked 
up a wad of two thousand in bills, and the 
man who lost it peeled off an outside hun- 
dred-dollar strip, and handed it over with 
thanks. Men will pay a bigger reward than 
a woman any day, yet the women make the 
gteatest noise when they lose anything.” 

One day a whole line of Jersey com- 
muters on the Erie road were treated to a 
quick bit of excitement. A porter hurried 
by carrying a couple of suit-cases. They 
belonged to different people, and he had 
scarcely delivered them, and started back 
along the platform, when a man called out 
of a window to-him: 

“This isn’t my suit-case.” 

There were four minutes to spare. The 
porter hustled after the lady who had 
accepted the other suit-case. 
announced that it was her suit-case, and 
there was no mistake. 


Right Lady; Wrong Suit-Case. 


While the porter and the other owner 
danced helplessly, the conductor appeared 
and requested the lady to open her suwit- 
case for inspection. She indignantly re- 
fused. Thereupon the man opened the 
other suit-case gladly, and exposed to the 
interested gaze of a crowd a bright cherry- 
colored kimono, a powder-box, a jar of 
cold cream, two new novels, various articles 
of lingerie, and a hot-water bottle. 


“These things don’t belong to me,” said — 


the man positively, but there was no need 
for further argument. 
shriek, the lady caught her belongings and 
shut them from the view of the curious. 


And the man took his lost bag, tipped the 


foe and the train moved on. 








said one of the clerks. - 


She tranguilly - 


With a smothered — 

















"Late one Sunday afternoon recently a 

“policeman in Central Park picked up a start- 
 lingly natural switch of rich Titian red 
locks, with @ three-tier row of puffs at- 
tached. He handed it in at the station, and 
~ had his own little set of troubles to over- 
= come that night when his wife found a 
stray auburn hair on his coat of cadet blue. 
-But that’s not the story. Early the next 
morning a messenger-boy arrived at the 
- $tation with a daintily scented note request- 


SY! 





. j 
Z KA) 
= i 5 


FENLON TOOK THE BOX OUT FROM UNDER THE COUNTER AND OPENED IT. 


€ ROMANCES OF THE LOST AND FOUND. — 









of the lovely eyes he adored, have it miracu- +3 


lously restored to brilliancy in some wierd 
Oriental style, and wear it on his heart. — 


Yet the ad. appeared here in prosaic New 


York. It needed a COMPIEISEREAEY: one; 


Lost—A lady with only one blue eye. 


receive reward. 


When the finder appeared at the “Tost 
and Found” window of the newspaper in 


=~ 


iw (ZZ 


IT WAS PACKED 


WITH HUNDRED-DOLLAR YELLOW-BACKS, 


ing the return of the locks. He was asked 
to give the owner’s name. 
“Aw, what do youse take me for?” he 
demanded. “No loidy wants her name 
= mixed up in a deal like dis. Gimme de 
; - burning bush‘an’ lemme go.” 
—- So, gallantly and discreetly, as they do 
these things in the Park, the police re- 
“turned the sunset-tinted switch to its un- 
: SSeaownt owner, via the mum A. D.-T. 
Plenty of glass eyes are lost and found, 
espedially on steamboats; but one adver- 
--tisement that called for the return of a 
~“Jady’s blue eye set in diamonds” smacked 
of the barbarous. — So might an Eastern 
Sultan honor a ee favorite—take one | 





which the ad. appeared, he produced the 
eye. And it was an eye, too, a beautifully 
hand-painted, languorous blue eye set in 
diamonds for a cuff-button. 

The man who claimed it showed its mate, 
but when he was asked for his reason for 
wearing them he merely smiled. As if such 


things needed a reason, or could be reduced 


to a reasonable basis. Surely, the world 
grows old in romance when it fails to 
scent the trail of adventure and love about E 
such happenings. g 

A private detective told of one case in 
which he was personally engaged in New 


York City. A man about thirty-five came Sy 


to his office one aay and told a Bp Saees: ele a 





Finder will 
please return to owner of missing blue TseS =a 





= 








: of coincidence. 





-He had been abroad for 


several years, after the breaking of his 


-theater-entrance: 


 engazement by the girl he was to marry. 


On board the liner he happened to run 
across a home paper, and, casually glancing 
ait over, came upon. this advertisement in 


the “Lost and Found” column: 


z “Lost—Diamond solitaire ring. Engraved M, W. to 
a SK. 0 


., Dec, 15—'05. Valued as keepsake. Lib- 
eral reward. No questions asked. 


“That is the identical ring that I gave 
the young woman I was to have married,” 
he told me, giving me the full names, which 
I cannot repeat. “I want to find the ring 
and return it to her.” 


A Loss That Reunited Old Lovers. 


“Tt took me nearly a week to get a line 
on that ring,” said the detective musingly. 
“Tt was a valuable one and, being marked, 
was hard to dispose of, but finally I found 
it in a pawn-shop ’way up ih the Bronx. You 
ought to have seen the fellow’s face when I 
turned it over to him. He paid me hand- 


- somely, and jumped into a cab to hustle off 
-up-town and claim the liberal reward. I 


guess that girl got a surprise. They were 


-married within a month.” 


Early one Sunday morning a_ waiter, 


-. standing out in front of Engel's restaurant 


on Thirty-Fifth Street, saw a man lying 
on his stomach over an iron grating near 
the Garrick Theater. He had a couple of 
sticks about five feet long, and soap was 
pasted on the ends of them. 

“What is it?” asked the waiter. 

The man raised his head and beckoned. , 

“Help me get it out, and I'll divvy with 
you,” he said. 

Tt sounded fair enough. The waiter 
helped fish about in the dark space beneath 
the grating, and they finally pulled up some- 
thing. It was a lady’s brooch, three large 
stones set in the form of a three-leaf clover. 

“Diamonds, ain’t they?” asked the hun- 
gry-looking man who had found them first. 

“Nix. Paste. Diamonds is white. These 
is yellow. Give you a quarter for them.” 

But the man hesitated. He was not a 
tramp. He was out of work and_ had 
tramped up from his lodgings on the Bow- 
ery to look for a job. The quarter would 
buy him a breakfast. 

Then his eyes noticed the sign above the 
“You Never Can Tell.” 

It was a pregnant message of hope. He 
refused the quarter and started back down- 
town with his find in his pocket. The next 


; day he found an ad. in the papers: = 


= $1,000 REWARD for the return of three-stone dia- 


mond brooch. Diamonds were tie Maren at, 
ent, set in form of clover-leaf. 


probably between Garrick Theater eet: “Rector’s 


restaurant, wm. A. Sleveseek: 16 Maiden Lane. 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


So Patrick J. Quigley, free-lance of for-— 
tune, went down 


up for one thousand dollars. 
never can tell when fate and fortune lurk 
in the words of a four-line ad. in the “Lost 
and Founds” of the great metropolitan” 
newspapers. z 


And it isn’t safe to trust to first appear-— 


ances. Coming in on a Coney Island ferry- 
boat one Saturday night, a straw hat blew 
off the head of a happy-looking, middle- 
aged New Yorker. Instantly he became a 

maniac. Rollickingly, the wayward head- 
piece dariced ahead of him the full length 
of the deck, while its owner rushed, madly 
after it. 

“Five dollars to anybody who stops it!” 
he yelled. “Ten dollars! 
lars!” 

It was an ordinary looking two-dollar 
straw hat, yet everybody within hearing dis- 
tance got busy. Just as a fitful gust of 
wind lifted it toward the railing a woman 
caught it deftly on the end of her parasol 
and saved it from a dip into Gravesend 
Bay. 

“Madam, I thank you with all my heart,” 
gasped the owner gratefully, and, carefully 
drawing down the leather hat-band, he re- 
moved a lot of folded bills. “That hat 
was worth about four hundred dollars to me 
that minute,” he added, and without any 
hesitation peeled off the twenty dollars 
reward. 


Money Is Surely Hard to Keep. 


“Whew!” he added later to a man be- 
side him, when he sank into a seat. “I’ve 
spent every dollar for six Saturdays running 
before I got home. Tucked the bunch in that 
hat-band to be sure I’d forget I hid it there, 
and get home all right this time. 
pay to take chances, does it?” 
incident shows it. 

And that’s the kind of a tussle that New 
York has to find things it loses. Consider- 
ing that there are more than four millions of 
people in the town, most of whom are intent 
upon getting hold of anything that looks 
good, it may seem strange that anything that — 


This little 


is lost is ever recovered by its owner. Many — 
persons who believe they are strictly honest — 


will insist upon the payment of a reward be- _ 
fore they will give up something of value 
that they have picked up in the street. To 
such persons it never seems to occur that — 
there is something inconsistent in an honest 
man or woman demanding pay for doing a 
thing that the law would put them in jail 
for not doing. Maybe they don’t see it that 
way, but that’s the way it ‘is, whether they 


“see it or not. 





to Maiden- Lane and 
traded the yellow diamonds he had picked 
-You certainly 


Twenty dol- — 


It doesn’t * 






< 








WE CERTAINLY 
RESP: To 


Dares 


NTIL we grew so up to date 
The furniture within our fiat 
Was made upholstered—this or that— 


Built for your comfort “while you wait’; 
But now our parlor has gone daft, 
My wife says that ’tis “Arts and Craft.” 


iM THE ONLY 
CHEERFUL THIN & 
(N THIS SHAcK! 


YOU CALL 
THIS A 


HOME ? 


WE MAI E_ 
FURNITURE 











So THIS 
1S ComFort 
En? 
=a 
i it 
Nl 
The mantel was a useful place 
Whereon a clock would chime the hour, 
A vase would hold the latest flower, 
And frames stood round each pictured face. 
Now one dim candle sheds its light— 
(Illumine my artistic sight!) 
My spouse sits on a settle straight See 
And | gaze at her from a chair 
Called Greek? or Dutch? (that’s here nor there) 
’Tis never moved except as freight— 
Our cozy corner’s goné as well 
For Arts and Craft don’t deem them swell. 
* 
~~ : 7 
One lacquered jar upon the floor st 


Holds a weird plant no Nature grew; 
It’s stunted by a “craft” or two 

Like all within our real-art door. 

High latticed windows tell of day, 

We can’t see out—it’s not “ au fait”! 








e ; 


AN “ART-FULL tAW- = 1 = A o17 : 





GEE! WHAT 
(THAT DAR 
LMUSTY SMELL? 









JUST ART 
DEAR, 
SUST 
ART! 











/GOSH'THIS 1S 
A CHEESY 
OLD Barn!! 







Thus crafty Art lays our home bare, 
And artful Craft has had its fling, 

A lantern on a chain’s “ the thing” 
So gas-light jets no longer flare: 

A musty odor makes me fret 
As incense mocks my cigarette. 









But my brave wife is martyred, too, 
For her piano is no more— 

A harp stands where it was before, 
She cannot play, but faith is true, 

Full many suns rose since we laughed 
Save with a “stencilled smile” of craft! 









I wish that | might turn to stone 

Ze Like Victory or fair Hermes, 
My wife might then turn Japanese, 
Effective to her very bone. 

_ 1 cannot live my natural part 

in rooms depressed by Crafts and Art. 





HAT harm can a pint of water do? 
That is what a Vienna athlete 
thought when an American bet 

him that he could not endure 
having it drop, drop by drop, upon his hand 
from a height of only three feet. 

All the spectators thought the American ~ 
had taken leave of his senses, for the 
athlete’s hand looked as if nothing less 
than a sledge-hammer could injure it in the. 
slightest. They soon learned their mistake. 

When three hundred drops had fallen 
upon the man’s hand, it was noticed that 








18 


oot 
bs 


THIS, IF YOU THINK IT’S EASY. 





" 

his face. was very red and that he was 
obviously suffering great pain. At the four 

hundred and twentieth drop he quit. The 

palm of his hand was swollen and inflamed, 

in one spot the skin had been broken, and 

the pain was so great that the athlete de- 

clared he could endure it no longer. 


_ side. 





T was pretty weather in northern Ala- 
bama. The Tennessee River was in 
tide, owing to long rains in- central 

Tennessee, and the water was pouring over 
the banks into the swamps along the south 
But the sun was warm, the ducks 
were shooting northward, and coons and 
possums were basking on the tops of hollow 
~sycamore-limbs. 

~Coming down, the river were people “ go- 

ing West.” Some were in shanty-boats, 
some in skiffs, and a few were on log rafts 
on which had been built little lean-to camps. 
‘They were farmers out of Clinch, French 
Broad, Little Tennessee, Hiwasse, and other 
streams, bound for Texas by way of the 

Ohio, Mississippi, and Atchafalaya. 

They had heard from friends who went 
before that- down in Texas one could get 
two-bale cotton land for the price of hog- 
wallows on the flanks of the Cumberlands. 
So they had sold out their holdings, built 
little craft of some sort, and were most of 
them destined to become happy shanty-boat- 
ers on the lower Mississippi. . 

Among the rest were Gene Dundon and 
his wife. This was their honeymoon as well 
as their home-seeking. They had slipped 
away from Tazewell County after a secret 
marriage before a kindly old parson, Hatha- 
way Blake. Old Hathaway loved the young 
people. He liked to see the stalwart young 
mountaineer “steal his‘girl,” in spite of op- 
position, and “run her” to some new home. 

He knew Gene Dundon and Hattie Brown, 
Why shouldn’t he? MHattie was a pretty 
girl who sang at revivals, and Gene could 
shoot the head off a squirrel at sixty yards, 


What Hathaway did not know was the ex- 
istence of Lottie Kemple, up Neuman’s 
Ridge way, where Dundon had been a fre- 
quent visitor. $ 

She had sent word down to Dundon that 
he must come to see her, and the next night 
but one Dundon “ started West” with Hat- 
tie Brown. Dundon did not quite under- 
stand Lottie. He thought she would for- 
get. Even if she did not, she would not 
know what had become of him until he was 
well on his way to Texas, 

It was a weck after he had started whith 
Lottie Kemple rode down to Clinch and 
heard the truth from the parson’s own lips. 
She wept for an hour, while the white- 
haired old man patted her head, tried to 
comfort her, and assured her that he would 
be her best friend. She dried her eyes at 
last, smiled faintly, and, after a bite to eat, 
asked the parson’s wife for a “snack” to 
last her on her way. Finally she rode away 
on her pony into the coming night. 

“T shore must be goin’!” she cried. “I 
shore must. Hit’s a long road, an’ time’s 
sho’t—yassuh!” 

She galloped up the trail till she was out — 
of sight of the parson’s house. Then she 
treined her pony into the woods, up the 
ridge back to the hill-path. Turning her 
face séuthward, she started down the river. 

All night she rode, but not at a gallop, 
because it was a long race, and she must — 
save her horse. She knew the way—she . 
had read the stars many a night by Dun- 
don’s side, from some point of rock above 
the valleys. She laughed mirthlessly as she 
rode. She had been happy once. 


19 


It was a wild country, and the bridle-path 
Jay through a mountain forest. She could 
ook down nearly a thousand feet upon 
narrow, level bottoms, where she detected 
“an occasional reddish glow, the reflection of 
fire or smoke above a stick-and-mud chim- 
ney. Once, stopping to rest her horse, she 
heard a rabbit running away in the brush. 

- Dawn found her with tired eyes staring 
at the path ahead. A few miles farther on, 
and she turned down from the ridge road 
and arrived at Campbell’s store-house. 





~Campbell’s wife was a first cousin. 


“Tm travelin’,” Lottie laughed gleefully. 
“T’m on the long road. Sho. I be’n goin’ 
all night—yassuh!” 

“Sho!” Mrs. Campbell exclaimed. 
‘man stole yo’, Lottie?” 
-~“Nossuh! I’m goin’ to steal a man— 
hue!” Lottie answered. 

Mrs. Campbell laughed at that, and Lot- 


“Some 


tie remained with her over the next night. 


ville at noon, 


Then she rode on down the valley where 
there was a second cousin, beyond whose 
home she had neither friends nor relatives. 

Three days later she rode through Knox- 
‘sunbonneted, rosy-cheeked, 
with her rifle across her lap. She had heard 


of Dundon on the riverside just above the 


Holston-French Broad fork. He had gone 
by the “week before in a little red shanty- 
boat, and the girl with him had been all 
smiles. Dundon was good to her. 

~ Lottie was in a strange country now, and 


_ the people she met along the road stared at 


her. She did not smile now; her Kemple 
lips were set and a little drooping. 

When night came she stopped at some 
riverside farmhouse. She was going, she 
told the people, to see relatives, to visit her 
brother, to find her sister—any excuse 
served her. Her only concern was to re- 
member in the morning the story: she had 


‘told the night before. 


Once she let slip the truth. It was at the 
Stone Shoals. She had-forded them, and 
on the far side she found a white man 
mending hoop-nets. He was talkative, and 


when she asked if shanty-boaters went 
down the river, he answered: 
“Right smart, yassuh. Ho law! They 


was a mountain man drapped down three 
days ago. Hit war right windy, and that 
man got blowed out the channel—hit’s on’y 
two foot deep, anyhow. An’ hisn’s bo’t got 
stuck onto the Buffalo bar, right yonder, 


yassuh. An’ say, he was jes’ the tomfool- 


ingest man! He an’ his woman was all 
seairt up.” ~ I 

“A little red shanty-boat—a woman with 
black hair?” 

is Yassuh! _ He had a scar onto his 
cheek.” -— 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


“On’y three days!” Lottie cried. “I'll 
get that man! Yassuh!” 2 
“Sho!” the fisherman exclaimed. “ You 


goin’ to kill that man?” 
But Lottie leaped into the saddle again — 
and galloped away, while the old fisherman _ 
rose stiffly to his feet and stared after her, 
his net-needle in his hand. : 
At Loudon, Gene Dundon and his wife 
heard bad news. Gene had left his address 


_ with his brother, Jim, and now, at the end 


of two wecks, Jim had sent a letter in or- 

der that Gene might know whether Hattie 

Brown's folks were ——— him or not. 
The letter read: 


Dear Gene—The folks is all well and 
paw kill anuther hawg las nite an we 
got the uper lot plowd las eving and i 
saw delp Brown after yo got away an 
he was mad but sad he wud kil yo 
when yo got back so i think he ant 

- mad enuf to get yo by that time but 
lottie kempel is gon an her poney an: 
she past Grale ford two das later an 
has her skurel gun an nobuddy nos is 
she alive or ded or war she is wel i 
reckin thar ain much to tel for it is lat 
candel lite an we air goin to plow the 
corn tomorer an maw plant the garding 
good by jim. 


When Gene read that Lottie -had left 
home, he remembered many things about 
Lottie Kemple which he had forgotten un- 
der the spell of Hattie Brown’s pretty eyes 
and gentle voice. Lottie had said once that 
the man who tried to “get shet” of her 
would surely “dread it,’ and now he had 
done that. He wondered what he had to 
dread? After the letter’s arrival, he began 
to hurry down the river. He started early 
in the morning, and floated till almost dark, 
but as he floated it seemed as though he 
was the chosen companion of misfortune. 
He had lost hours of good floating by go- 
ing aground on Stone Shoals. Day after 
day he had been held back by dry gales 
out of the south. Storms held him, and 
when the drift was running his wife tor- 
mented his heart with the fear that some 
of the flotsam would crtish the thin sides 
of his shanty-boat. 

While Dundon lost tire, Tote: Seauet 
She sold her pony at Walnut and bought 
a canoe—a long, light plank canoe—and she 


drove it down stream, hugging the banks — 


when the winds blew and seeking the swift- _ 
est current when the day was calm. Her 
journeys down the Holston on rafts and in 
small boats, visiting her relatives, had pre- 
pared her for the long race. 

~ She Fass on sSbaiite Pests and at Vul- 


old farmer’s family. 


‘screaming in flocks, 


ON THE LONG ROAD. = 21 


ture Island she heard that she was 6nly a 


day behind the little red shanty-boat. But 
now she had a chance to travel with an 
It was threatening 
weather—the spring crop rains seemed to be 
at hand—and for a week she floated no 
mofe than a few miles a day, hoping for 
clear weather. 

The next time she heard of the little red 





shanty-boat it was three days ahead. Then, 
one murky morning, she abandoned her 
friends, took to her canoe again, and started 
on. As she paddled, the clouds broke away, 


-the sun came out, and the girl knew that 


she had done well to follow in the canoe. 

The river was full to the bank. Orioles 
were singing in the elms, and bluejays were 
At night the mocking- 
birds were dreaming in the willows. 


Lottie paddled all day long, and when 
The. 


night came she did not go ashore. 
river, she knew, was safe for the hundred 
miles fo Mussel Shoals. Tired out at last, 
the vengeance- -seeker curled down on the 


straw in the bottom of the canoe and went 


to sleep. The sun wakened her, 


=~ 


It was a glorious spring day. Birds sang, 
the scent of countless blossoms filled the 
air, the pale green of new-born leaves col- 
ored the landscape, and the river itself was 
the color of liquid gold. In her heart the 
girl felt that the chase was nearing an end. 


She was weary and sad, and the thought 


pleased her, 
She scanned the shores carefully, watch- 


JUST BEFORE SUNDOWN SHE SPIED A SHANTY- 
BOAT MAKING TOWARD THE SOUTH BANK 
IN-THE BEND BELOW HER. SHE RAN 
HER CANOE INTO THE SHADOW 
OF THE TREES AND FLOATED 
SLOWLY TOWARD THE CRAFT, 


ing the inlets lest the little red shanty-boat 
be tied up in one. At Decatur, she studied 
the shanty-boat town till she had seen every 
boat in it. A few miles below, she saw the 
big floating sawmill, and .one of the deck 
hands warned her that the shoals were not 
far below. 

Just before sundown, she spied a shanty- 
boat making toward the south bank in the 
bend below her. She ran her -canoe into 
the shadow of the trees and floated slowly 
toward the craft. The man at the sweeps 
was Gene Dundon, and the woman by his 
side wag the yho had been Hattie 

EC ranch, Lottie Kemple 
F to fall. She dropped 
"1 ndred yards of the Hee 















She ale hear the sound of voices; Pe 


heard Hattie begin to sing. The sound cut’ > 


the deserted girl to the heart. The shadow 
on the window-curtain was that of Gene; 


ca 


j 


i 


eat supper. 
> “gat down at the same side of the table with 
him. The sight of the silhouette wounded 


she saw that he was at the table, about to 
After a time, Hattie came and 


the other woman Ae but she held her 
breath. 

~ The minutes drageed along. After a 
time the light was blown out and Lottie 


watched the stars to make sure that she did 


not think an age had passed when only 
minutes had gone by. Slowly, the roar of 
the great Muscle Shoals became more and 
more audible as the night grew older. It 
was only a little way to the canal wing dam, 
and below that was the water—tumbling 
over ledges of rocks, splitting on the points 
of islands, jumping up and down in the 
wild abandon of a mile wide river, torn by 


oz jagged stone and whipped into foam by 


sawyer snags. 


At last, whem a pale star had passed 
through the breadth of a tree, Lottie let go 


- sher hold and floated down the slack water 


_ long ropes, one from each gunwale. 


= straightening out the lines. 
_ the lines from their stakes, and when next 


to the little cabin-boat. She was in the 
shadow, and all was quiet within. The 
sucking of the water along the bank helped 
to conceal her movements. 

The boat was tied to the bank by two 
They 
hung slack most of the time, but occasionally 
the current tugged at the silent craft, 
Lottie slipped 


the current tugged, the shanty-boat came 


_ tically adopted by t 


away. 

Lottie watched the craft clear the brush 
and saw it drawn steadily into the main 
current. Then she drove her canoe into the 
wake and sitting, with her chin on her fists, 
and her elbows on her knees, she floated 
with the shanty-boat, a few yards behind, 
toward the leaping waters. 

Ahead of her, a mile away, was the light 
marking the entrance to the canal. Below 


THE- LIVE -WIRE: : 


y 
that, a gray haze hung above the gloomy 
river, and out of the haze came the roar, 
heavinge and rolling as the water ‘pounded - 
upon the rocks. 

The boat. floated along steadily and 
quietly. There were no waves on the water, 
no wind in the air. The huge, dark masses 
of the bank seemed to be marching past the _ 
stars above the tree-tops. On-the water, a 
few gleams of light flickered and darted. 
The light at the entrance to the canal grew 
plainer as it became nearer.’ 

The canoe and the shanty-boat floated on 
down, turning from side to side as the 
eddies in the current caught them. The 
shanty-boat came between the canoe and the 
light, and the girl saw a little halo of light 
along the roof of the boat, showing that 
there was a faint shadow cast by the light, 
it was so near. 

Ahead, the gray mist became whiter, and 
to right and left, two banks 6f trees on 
islands marked the way to the wing dam. 
Down the center of the way led the shanty- 
boat. Now the roar became furious and 
tumultuous. The light had been passed. 
The girl in the canoe made no motion and 
uttered no sound. 

Suddenly, a light flashed-in the shanty- 
boat—it flickered a moment, and then burned 
steadily. The front door opened and a 
beam of light—yellow lamp light—shot out 
into the night. It struck against the gray 
fog-bank above the leaping water. Then the 
shadow of a human form was thrown 
against the gray mist, with the arms raised 
in astonishment. 

The next instant, a far-heard scream—a 
man’s screatn—cut through the roar of the 
waters. Then the shanty-boat pitched over, 
down and out of sight. A moment later, 
the canoe dipped at the fall and the girl, her — 
eyes shut now, but her position unchanged, 
followed her faithless sweetheart. 





A LAND WITHOUT ORPHANS. 


‘HERE are no orphans 
That is not because pare 
there but because, when st 
at once steps in to the 
ones. Children whc 
‘death of their natu 


‘in Australia. 
its never die 
do, the “state 
‘their little 
bbed by 


















Unless some near re! 
sire to assume the respon 
_ demonstrate his ability to d 
is 
of the country. These foster-homes are 
examined closely, and often two or three 


Ss 


: committed to the Children’s Council, 
“which selects some home among the farmers 


are tried before one is found in which the ~ 

child finds congenial surroundings. 
After thirteen, the state feels that its 

card should earn more than board and 


“lodging. - At that age, therefore, he is hired 
re prac- out, usually, however, to the foster-parents 


who have been previously taking care of 


e- him. Three-fourths of his wages are de- 


posited in savings banks; the remainder is 
his. When he becomes of age, or if he 


“wishes money in order to learn a trade or 


to attend a more advanced school—or in the 


-case of a girl, when she wishes to marry— 


the savings are turned over to the ward. 


2 


LOST? NOT “FAT HEAD’S” MONEY! 






mae 

=~ 
<5 
Se 
Vet 

BS 

me 

if 





a 


Tore 





 _—Stamn\slod - 


SAIREY ANN: “NOW YOU'VE BIN AN’ LORST YER PENNY, FAT ’EAD.” — 
JOHN JAMES; “NO, I AIN'T LOST IT, SILLY, ’COS I KNOWS WHERE IT IS.” tee 

>; =) re 7 
: —London Sketeh. re 
23 : : : ee 











BY HAROLD BOLCE. 





ors, 


Sometimes It Paints Pictures on Human Flesh; On Other Occasions It 
a Will Melt Watch-Chains Without Burning the Cloth 
That the Chains Touch. 


IGHTNING is whimsical both when its 
flashing means death and when it 
comes with elfin grace to perform 
wonderful and fascinating pranks. 

Men of science, investigating the strange and 
sinister phenomena of lightning, confess that 
the secret of its wayward and_ fantastic 
power is thus far undivined. In the United 
States from seven hundred to eight hundred 
people are annually killed by lightning. in™ 
addition nearly a thousand suffer serious in- 
- jury. Increasing hundreds are singled out 
for this element’s incredible caprice, but are 
not harmed. ‘The total value of property de- 
stroyed by lightning exceeds three million 
dollars in a year. Mi 
Altogether, in every twelve months, light- 
ning strikes America more than six thousand 
times! — 
~ A current of ten thousand volts is capable 
of jumping across a space of half an inch of 
common air. A lightning-flash extending 
from the clouds to the earth has an electro- 
motive power of many millions of volts. 


7 


a r 


24 


If hovering along the cloud-line above the 
American continent, there lurked an aerial 
army we could not see, and could locate only 
when its fearful artillery flashed, and if this 
unseen and formidable enemy hurled shells 
of vast explosive power six thousand times 
a year at our people, fear and horror would 
stir the nation. 

And it would challenge the genius of the 
republic to destroy or conquer the enemy, 
especially when we found that the force 
ambushed in the clouds was utilizing laws 
unknown to us. 

. There are in this fulgurant fire and fury 
undreamed of possibilities. A young man in 
Europe was recently killed by lightning while 
returning home from work. His clothing 
was neither deranged nor burned, but the 
nails were all drawn from his shoes, and the 
links of a silver chain he wore fused into an 
ingot, as if they had passed through a labora- 
tory fire. An assayer to accomplish what the 
lightning did in a flash would have been 
compelled to develop a heat of nearly a thou- 


v 


: 


sand degrees. And the marvel grows as we 
dwell upon the miracle that the garments of 
the victim were not singed. 

Tt frequently happens that lightning burns 
the body without setting fire to the clothing 
worn or even scorching it. Thomas Neale 

_ reports a case where the hands were burned 
to the bone, while leaving intact the gloves 
the victim wore. On June Io, 1895,a woman 
was killed under a tree at Bellenghise, in 
Europe. Her body was burned to a crisp, 
but her clothing was not injured by the 
mysterious fire. 

On the other hand, lightning often destroys 
the clothing, and even leaves the victim nude 
but free of any injury. Sometimes the light- 
ning takes one or 
several garments 
and leaves the 
rest. 

Near Columbus, 
Georgia, last year, 
lightning leaped. 
from a tree to a 
house, shattered 
the weather-boards 
and ceiling, ripped 
off one side of an 
iron bed, and then 
glanced to Miss 
Hilda Clark, seated 
in the room. It 
tore off one of 

- her garters, burned 
her stocking and 
unlaced a shoe, re- 
moving it. The 
young woman was 
terribly frightened, 
but not hurt. 

It seems to be a 
favorite feat of 
lightning to un- . 
dress its victims. 

A farmer named Fromentin was plowing 
a field in France, in 1903. Of his two horses, 
lightning killed one, spared the other, burned 
the farmer’s hat, and stripped him entirely of 
his clothing, but did not injure him. Theré 
are thousands of such instances. Sometimes 

the people struck are killed, but just as fre- 
quently suffer no inconvenience, further than 
great fright and the loss of the clothing they 
wear. 

The ancients believed that lightning was 
vengeful. The seeming anarchy of its pranks 
led the people of old to believe that lightning 
had a mind, and acted sportively or with 
sinister intent. 
little more than the ancients did regarding 
lightning, but they realize that its amazing 
power and handiwork indicate unknown 
laws of energy. = : 


ON FRANK’S BREAST WAS 





NESS OF A TREE. 


The scientists now know — 


THE PRANKS OF LIGHTNING. — 25 


In spite of its tremendous power, Tene 
ning frequently snatches implements out of 
people’s hands without inflicting injury. 
Sometimes in the fwinkle of an eye, it 


transports victims fifty yards or more and 


sets them down unharmed. In a flash, with 
incredible dexterity, it has shaved men. Upon 
the skin of otherssit imprints strange photo- 
graphs. 

At least on one occasion lightning extract- 
ed silver from the coin in one compartment 


of a purse and spread a delicate tracery of 


this metal‘on the gold in another. 


As a matter of fact, scientists’ conipilatons: <a 
of lightning pranks read like the records of ~ 


goblin deeds. It is, perhaps, the world’s 
most fascinating 
chapter in nature’s 
mysteries, and, as 
stated, it suggests 


the possibility of 
eclipsing even the 
far wrought by 
advance. 


science simply 
the multiplying in- 
stances of light- 
ning’s fantasy. 
Explanations are 
not even offered. 

The fate that 
strikes down one 
inmate of a room 


men in a ~ field, 
destroys one and 
leaves the other, 
is one of the con- 
stantly recurring mysteries of lightning. On 
June 15, of last year, word came that Miss 
Grace Syres, of Rawley, Iowa, was killed by 
lightning while she was in her home, and 
that the stroke that had crashed through the 
roof darted, after claiming one victim, be- 
tween two infant twins, cutting the mat- 
tress completely in two, but leaving the 
babes unharmed. 

Last year Lige Huttnats a farmer, living 
in the neighborhood of Shelbyville, Ken- 
tucky, was walking home with an ax on his 
shoulder. Lightning struck him, and he was 
found walking about, dazed, in a circle, the 
crown of his hat gone, and its rim around 
his neck. Blood was issuing from his mouth 
and nose. 
upon reaching the farmer, found that the 


FOUND A PERFECT LIKE- 


man was not seriously injured, but that all- 


~ 


achievements 
total marvels thus 

' men in electrical- 
At -present> 


stands amazed at 


and spares the 
other, or, of two. 


A physician was summoned and, | 


ae i Me 








=m 








the hair on his head and face had been re- 
moved as if he had been shaved. 

In another instance lightning struck a 
farmer carrying a pitchfork on his shoulder. 


- Force from the clouds seized the implement, 


carried it fifty yards away and twisted its 
prongs into corkscrews. The farmer was 
unhurt. oe > 

At Delphi, Ohio, on June 8, 10907, while 
nine persons were in the kitchen in the home 
of Louis Crawford, lightning struck a neigh- 
boring maple-tree and, traveling on a clothes- 

line, plowed a great hole in the house, 













THE STROKE CRASHED BETWEEN TWO INFANT TWINS, CUTTING 
2 THE MATTRESS COMPLETELY IN TWO, BUT LEAV- 
ING THE BABES UNHARMED. 


picked up a shotgun hanging on the wall, 


_ snapped the weapon in two, dropped it harm- 


lessly at the feet of the terrified spectators, 
and hurled the barrel across the room above 
their heads, burying it deep in the opposite 
wall. No one was injured. 

Last year reports came from Nashville, 
Illinois, that the people of that town were 
miraculously saved by lightning from an 
impending cyclone. A funnel-shaped cyclone 
cloud was approaching the community, when 
out of the heavens the lightning flashed and 


' split the dangerous spiral. It separated in- 


fialves, encircled the town, and passed on, the 
divided sections reuniting just beyond the 
suburbs. - a 


Early in the morning of June 7, 1907, the 


family of A. J. Jones, of Clayton, Missouri, 
were awakened by blinding strokes of light- 
ning. The fash entered the house on a tele- 


rs 


Bie ss THE LIVE WIRE. : . 


‘4 


if 
phone wire, The mysterious visitor pulled 
up all the tacks in the carpet, and burned out 
all the lights. Terror-stricken, the members 
of the family coweréd in the dark until morn- 
ing, when it was found that no damage of 
any importance had been done. 

Near Macon, Georgia, on December 23, 
1907, while twenty neighbors were enjoying 
a festal evening at the Bryan home, at 
Reid’s Station, lightning descended and 
killed Fedora Bryan, a little child, who was 
sitting in the lap of Mrs. Donaldson, her 
aunt. 

The lightning-bolt stripped the clothing 
from the child, but examination of the little 
corpse revealed no evidence of injury save a 
small burn on the left ankle. Fifteen other 
persons in the company were injured, but 
Mrs. Donaldson, who held the child, escaped 
unharmed, 

Tt has been thought, even by scientific men, 
that some mathematical law may be discov- 
ered that will explain a part of the fantastic 

operations of lightning. 

Mme. la Comtesse Mycielska, 
of the Duchy of Posen, reported 
to French scientists, who inves- 
tigated the case, that lightning, 
in the summer of 1001, entered 

. her stable, where there were 
twenty cows, and killed the first 

_nearest the door, spared the sec- 

ond, killed the third, and so on 
throughout the stalls, striking 
down all the uneven numbers, 
and not scorching a hair of the 
rest. A further cifrious fact in 
regard to this event was that 
although the building was stored 
with straw, nothing was set afire. 

Many of the cases reported in 
America have similarly shown 
the lightning’s systematic selec- - 

tion of victims by number, and also its 
strange actions in toying with powder and 
other things inflammable, without setting 
them afire. 

Lightning is clearly a law unto itself. 

Lightning struck the Maromme Powder 
Magazine, near Rouen, split the roof, and 
scattered two barrels of powder in the midst 
of eight hundred others, arid no explosion 
took place. 

“Nevertheless, a powder magazine is not a 
safe place during a lightning-storm. At va- 
rious times thousands of people have been 
killed in the neighborhood of powder works 
destroyed by lightning flashes. 

The fact, however, that lightning has 
toyed with powder without exploding it, is 
an expression of the rare delicacy of touch 
which characterizes this quick and flashing 


visitant. 


Sipe ee THE PRANKS 





A FLASH ENVELOPED HIM FOR A MOMENT, AND 
WHEN IT HAD PASSED HE FOUND THAT 
THE LIGHTNING HAD LIT THE WICK. 


In 1881 a botanist discovered that during 
a thunder-storm lightning had extracted the 
pollen from a clump of lilies and scattered 
it on surrounding flowers. 

A chain worn around the neck of a young 
lady at a boarding-school at Bordeaux was 
cut into five pieces by a lightning-flash, and 
some of the fragments were fused and car- 
ried away. But the young woman was not 
hurt. 

In 1899 a farmer held in his hand a candle 
which he had just put out. A flash envel- 
oped him for a moment, and when it had 
passed he found that the lightning had lit the 
wick. He was not physically injured, but 
was so startled by the occurrence that his 
reason fled. 

The ability of lightning to kindle a flame 
at the tip of a candle is a strange contrast 
with the sometimes safe incursion of this 
fiery element into a powder-magazine. And 
the fact that the man that held the candle 
“was not struck reveals again the narrow 

trail lightning may follow through the air. 


Mention has been made of the curious 


lightning pranks in pulling tacks from the 
carpet in a home at Clayton, Missouri. At 
Marseilles the lightning drew all the nails 
from a couch covered with satin, and these 
were found two years afterward under a tile. 
Nails, which ordinarily cannot be drawn 
from cabinets without injuring the wood, are 


often extracted by lightning, with mysterious, = 


skill. = 
The epee of lightning to aoe handi- 


OF LIGHTNING. 





Seneca reports a case in which ighesings= 


melted a sword, and left the scabbard whole! 
In July, 1896, lightning entered a cottage, 


struck the key from the lock and threw it in” 


a shoe under a chest of drawers. A couple 


of canes, resting beside the fireplace, were 


lifted and laid on the mantel. And that was 
the only 
the house. In August, 1866, lightning struck 
a cupboard, breaking all the china dishes and 
sparing the earthenware. 

Lightning is the one element Ge: ex- 
pressions are bewildering and contradictory. 


Sometimes the bodies of victims killed be-_ 
come rigid, and turn almost to rock. Others 


are so burned that they crumble at the 


touch. Others, again, are totally consumed. — 


This frequently happens in the case of 
animals. 

On August 31, 1895, onic secodet- 
upon a field in which there was a man and 


a flock of sheep. Twenty-five of the animals — 
were killed, and lay on the ground. The man — 


was not injured, but the dog at his side was 
not only struck but annihilated. Not the 
slightest vestige of the animal remained. 


The sheep-herder, at the time, was holding 


a knife in his hand. This, too, was spirited 
away in the most mysterious manner. 


evidence that lightning had struck — 











LIGHTNING STRUCK HIM, AND HE WAS FOUND ee 
WALKING ABOUT, DAZED, IN A CIRCLE, THE 
CROWN OF HIS HAT GONE, AND ITS 
RIM AROUND HIS NECK, 











v 


28 


- Tt is clear that men intent on crime could 
make effective and tetrible use of the 
lightning’s force if science knew how to 
‘use it. And it may be providential that 
Nature is withholding the secrets of the 
lightning’s power. 

- The lightning’s strength and skill in trans- 
porting people and objects struck give evi- 
dence of another mystery. It is not 
difficult to under- 
stand the scattering 
of objects by an ex- 
plosion or the hurling ~ 
force of thunder- 
bolts, but, in case of 
_ lightning, people are 
- frequently carried 
fifty yards or more 
and set down without 


iff iu 


& 


THE LIVE WIRE. sae 


hanged. He had been escorted to the scaf-. 
fold, the noose placed about his neck, the 
black cap adjusted, and the sheriff had 
raised his hand to give the signal to spring 
the trap. Instantly there was a lightning- 
flash, and the murderer fell dead. No one 
else was injured, but the sheriff was so 
affected by the tragic event that he deter- 
mined-never again to officiate at a hanging, 
and so resigned his 
office. 

No one has fath- 
omed the lightning’s 
just or wanton an- 
archy.. There are 
various theories re- 
garding means of se- 
curing immunity 
from lightning, but 
these conceptions are 


injury. 

In April, 1866, dif i; vf) Ny ¢ proved to be as fan- 
lightning struck a hf HOM Wir he tastic as the light- 
house, and from a oe HE oe pled 
upper story carriec MJ _\\ ees n America more 
three children and persons are killed in 
put them on the the open by lightning 
ground, outside of than in houses. And 
the house, without _ yet of nine hundred 
injuring them. Yet and seventy - three 
the bed on which persons injured but 


they slept was de- 
molished. The 
mother, in another 
room with a child 
_ at her breast, rose 

in alarm. The light- 
ning lifted the infant 
~ across the room, but 
did not hurt the child. 
The mother, in her 
terror, struck a match 
and was about to 
light a candle, when 
the lightning - flash 
struck her dead. All this in a few seconds. 

Lightning is not usually so merciful in 
its treatment of little ones. A stimmer 
thunder-storm broke over a field in which a 
farmer and his family were haying. One 
of the childfen dropped on her knees and 
raised her hands in prayer. The up-pointed 
fingers attracted the lightning and she was 
killed. The rest of the members in the 
group were spared. 

A great many churches in all lands have 
been struck and sometimes destroyed by 
lightning, and at times assembled worship- 
ers and priests at the altar “have been 
singled out for death. 

On the other hand, the celestial fire has 
seemed to be just in its wrath. On July 20, 
1872, a negro named Norris, who had killed 
a mulatto in Kentucky, was about to be 





FORCE FROM THE CLOUDS SEIZED THE IMPLE- 
MENT, CARRIED IT FIFTY YARDS AWAY AND 
TWISTED ITS PRONGS INTO CORKSCREWS, 


not destroyed by 
lightning, three hun- 
dred and twenty- 
seven were struck 
while in houses and 
fifty-seven in barns. 
Cities are general- 
ly regarded as safer 
than the open coun- 
try. The city is 
roofed with much 
metal, and there is a - 
vast mass of steel in 
its frame; and tele- 
graph, telephone, and electric-light_ wires 
help to convey lightning harmlessly to earth. 
But the Federal scientists, after a long 
study of the comparative safety of places, 
conclude that if a cloud with a great store 
of energy should approach quickly “all of 
the wires in ten cities would not prevent it 
from discharging right and left.” It is 
held that the main difference in the statis- 
tics of destruction by lightning between the 
city and country is that the area beyond 
municipal confines is so much vaster than 
that. covered by the cities themselves. — 
During many ages the bay-tree was sup- 
posed to offer safe asylum from lightning- 
strokes. That is why the emperors crowned 
themselves with laurel-leaves. It marked 
the head that Jupiter should spare. But 
history has shown that every variety of tree’ 


: THE PRANKS OF LIGHTNING... _ 29 


is subject to lightning-strokes. There is no 
place-on the planet that is absolutely safe. 

Even fish in lakes are sometimes killed in 
great quantities by lightning. And in somé 
places farmers, .after a thunder - storm, 
have scooped up wagon-loads of fish that 
had the appearance of being boiled. 

A strange freak of the lightning’s power 
was displayed in 1888, in a field in Europe 
where potatoes were growing. The vines 
were burned, and all the potatoes in the 
hills were baked as if in an oven. 


How the Ancients Dodged Bolts. 


At times electricity has shocked men deep 
in the lower levels of mines. Doubtless, 
however, caverns underground are the 
safest place during a thunder-storm. That 
is why Tiberius and Caligula, believing that 
lightning was an expression of revengeful 
gods, had subterranean passages built as 
places of refuge during lightning storms. 

History records but one notable building 
that was never struck by lightning. This 
passed through a thousand years of elec- 
trical disturbances unscathed. It was Solo- 
mon’s Temple, and was completely overlaid 
with gold. 

Yet, if every farmer and every city man 
could build his home of gold, there is no 
guarantee that that precious metal would 
safeguard his abode against the wrath of 
fire from the upper air. Lightning in va- 
rious places has shown a delight in rob- 
bing buildings of their gold. It snatched 
that metal from a great clock-steeple in 
Bohemia, and with the yellow grains gilded 
a window in the chapel. This delicate tra- 
cery was accomplished in a second’s flash. 
From the cornice of an altar-pillar in a 
church in Vienna, lightning took the gold 
and put it on a silver vase. 

There has been much controversy among 
scientists in regard to lightning’s fantastic 
habit, at times, of imprinting curious photo- 
graphs upon victims. It is claimed by some 
of the investigators that the wonderful de- 
signs traced upon stricken people and ani- 
mals are the result of violent; action upon 
the tissues, and are not actual photographs. 
The more progressive scientists accept the 
photographic idea, believing that the light- 
ning contains power not even included in 
‘R6ntgen and cathodic rays and radiography. 

Frank and Charles Demmerle, brothers, 
of 372 East Sixteenth Street, Flatbush, were 
struck by lightning while bathing at Park- 
way Baths. On Frank’s breast was found a 
perfect likeness of a tree. Mme. Morosa, 
of Lugano, was struck by lightning but not- 
injured. Between her chair and the window 
a flower had stood in a vase. The light- 
ning photographed this flower on her leg. 


Pm = 


In September, 1857, a peasant woman at 
Seine-et-Marne was struck by lightning 
while minding a cow. The animal was 
killed, and the woman struck to the ground, 
but.she soon revived and afterward suffered 
no further injury from her mishap. On 
her breast the lightning had drawn a pic- 
ture of the cow. 3 

The record of devastation 
lightning is great and increasing, Every 
summer adds larger lists of victims killed 
or strangely affected by this fire from 
heaven. There have been, however, a num- 
ber of authenticated cases of strange cures 
effected by lightning. 7 ; 

For twenty years a paralytic had been 
vainly taking the waters of Tunbridge 
Wells. 
cured. 

In the summer of 1807 lightning struck a 
man whose side had been paralyzed from 
infancy. The stroke restored to him the 
use of his limbs. One of his eyes had been 
weak. After the lightning-stroke he could 
read and write without spectacles. But, 
strange to say, the lightning had made him 
deaf. 

Many reports have come in oe people 
cured of rheumatism by lightnifig-strokes. 
And lightning has caused the dumb to 
speak. , 

The effect of lightning upon trees is 
sometimes marvelous. Some of the effects 
may be explained by explosions caused by 
the sudden expansion of sap, but there are 
many fantastic incidents before which 
science is dumb. 

A great oak, struck in the forest of 
Vibraye, had its mighty trunk reduced to 
powder by lightning and distributed as saw- 
dust over a circuit of fifty meters. But the 
top of the tree, with all its branches intact, 
was planted by the lightning-stroke where 
the trunk had stood. ; 


Wonderful Tree-Surgery. — 


In 1868, in the forest of Pont de Bus- 
siére, occurred perhaps the most beautiful, 
as well as the most mysterious, phenomena 
in all the pranks of lightning recorded by 
man. An English oak and a pine, growing 
ten yards apart, were struck at the same 


moment by a lightning-flash. When it had 


passed, it was found that the leaves of the 
oak had been transferred to the pine, and 
the needles of the latter tree were grafted 
on the oak. 

This miracle attracted thousands of in- 
habitants; and scientists who investigated 
the case found that the trees thus trans- 


formed by lightning bore their unaccus-— 


tomed foliage until the time for the leaves 
to fall in the autumn. 


caused by 


Lightning struck him and he was | 


WILLIAM TELL? WHO SAID HE WAS: 
oe OO MUTT 





= 








ersten, 5 re - : : rz or, 

THE NEW MOVABLE TEE, DESIGNED TO ADD TO THE EXCITEMENT OF GOLF IN THE HITAWAK 
ae . Pe ei ISLANDS.— London Sketch. 
5 Oa tae 


she ss . 





ah 





CHAPTER I. 
The Hand of Fate. 


OW could I dream that that piece of 
crumpled. paper, fluttering to the 
floor of the bank, was to be the 
terrible turning-point in my career— 

that it was to be the first strand in the rope 
of circumstance that was to bind me? 

It was about half past two in the afternoon 
and the bank was almost empty of customers. 
From the seat I occupied [ had a good view 
of persons coming in and passing out. My 
work was well in hand, and I could afford a 
moment now and then to look around me— 
to enjoy a quick glimpse of the folk who 
came with their pockets bulging with notes 
to pay into the bank—to watch those who 
presented checks, receiving for them the glit- 
tering gold shoveled out to them by the 
cashiers. 

One hundred and twenty pounds a year! 
That was my salary. Two pounds ten shil- 
lings a week—minys certain’ shillings and 
pence deducted with scrupulous accuracy. 

But I was happy. I was not such a fool 
as to allow myself to be made miserable by 
the better fortune of others. Some day I 
might be rich myself! I was young—only 


twenty-one—healthy and strong, and I had- 


no expensive tastes. 

“Vou are a very unlucky fellow, Fawley, 
of course;”’ remarked one of the chief cash- 
jers to me one day. “ You are greatly handi- 
capped in life. I am glad to notice that you 
don’t let your worry make you miserable 
and discontented. There are some trials that 


3L W E 


3 


bring a fellow fuck. There are sacrifices that 
are good investments.” * 

He was speaking of the expense entailed 
upon me by the ill-health of my mother, 
who lived with me in the lodging of three 
rooms that I rented in a cheap suburb in the 
south of London. 

“T am sorry to tell you, Mr.*Fawley, that 
there is practically no hope of your mother 
ever being well or strong. She will need 
careful nursing, and should have the best of 
food, and whatever delicacies you may be 
able to afford her. 

“T—ahem! You are not rich, Mr. Faw- 
ley? Well, don’t hesitate to call upon me for 
any medical help I can give you. My ac- 
count can stand over till you find it con- 
venient. You see I attend a good many rich 
people, and one must take the lean with the 
fat? 

Such were the doctor’s words. No, she 
would never be better. But there was not 
much sacrifice in all that I could do for her. 

“God bless you, my boy! So you have got 
to run for your train, have you? Oh, those 
long days in the city! But you will be back 
as soon as your work is over. TI shall count 
the hours till I look upon your face once more 
—if I am to see it again.” 

That was her great fear—that she might 
fall a victim to the malady that afflicted her, 
that it might have a sudden termination while 
I was absent. 

If only some of thése golden sovereigns 
that that young fellow picked up off the 
counter as if he did not know how they came 
there, had been mine, how much happiness 











through the doors. 





“they might have purchased for that poverty- 


“shadows. home of mine! 
The great door of the bank swung open 
Xone ‘more, and there entered the Man of 


_ Fate. 


He was tall, Don in clothes that marked 
him at once as the patron of a high-class 
tailor. One learns in a bank quickly to 
reckon up the signs of affluence or the re- 
verse. This man bore all the outward evi- 
dences of prosperity. 

He glanced around him with swift, search- 


ing eyes, and advanced to the counter. He 


was smiling and chatting to the cashier while 
he produced a pocketbook, and searched ‘in 
it for the check he had to present: 

-A most agreeable fellow, he was something 
‘over forty years of age, his dark brown hair 
tinged with gray. While the cashier was 
seeing to the check, the stranger looked 
around. 

His eyes fell on me. He started, smiled, 
nodded to me, and then, gathering up the 
gold and notes, he turned away to the door, 
while I wondered who he might be. 

It was then the paper fluttered from his 
hand and fell to the floor. It was one of the 
notes, and he had not observed it. I sprang 
from my seat to call his attention to it, but I 
was too late. The stranger had vanished 
* a 

“Tf you don’t mind, Mr. Fawley, you 
might run after him with it,” remarked the 
cashier, to whom I showed the note. “The 
gentleman is Mr. Resgrove. He is going on 
to Shlensons, the jeweler’s, he told me, to 
buy some friend of his a wedding present. 
You will find him only a few yards up the 
street.” 

I did. Mr. Resgrove turned to me in 
amazement when I touched him on the arm, 

and he found a hatless, panting man beside 
him. 
= BY. Jove! How careless of me!” he 
exclaimed, as he took the note. “I cannot 
afford to go throwing ten-pound notes about. 
And I have put you to some trouble. I canl- 


not say how much I am indebted to you.” 


He bowed to me and started in surprise. 

“ By the way,” he said, “ you are the young 
fellow I saw in the bank at the desk, are you 
not? I was struck by your face. If you 
are not a son of old Hugh Fawley, of Man- 
chester, it is one of the most remarkable 
likenesses I ever met with.” 

“Hugh Fawley was my father,” I replied 
“Tm afraid I don’t remember you, Mr. Res- 

“grove.” 

He laughed pleasantly. ; 

“Tt would be strange if you did,” he said. 
“TI knew your father well, though. T am all 


~ the more pleased to find that it is his son to 
whom I am indebted for a kindness.” 


Hiya 


THE LIVE WIRE. = a, 


He, took out a little morocco-bound pocket- 
book and opened it. 

“Give me your address,” he said. “ No, I 
am not going to insult you by sending you a 
reward, but I may be able to do you some 
good some @day. One never knows. You 
will never be the worse off for having one 
more friend.” 

I gave it to him, and he walked away with 
a cordial shake of the hand. 

“Resgrove! Resgrove!” exclaimed my 
mother, when I told her of what had hap- 
pened. ‘I remember no one of that name. 
But your father had many friends till dis- 
aster overtook him.” 


“Promise me that you will do something 
for me—that you will do something for my 
sake.” 

I was never more surprised than when Emily 
Resgrove, Mr. Resgrove’s niece, spoke those 
words to me. That night was the third time 
of our meeting at his house, and I had not 


been favorably impressed by Miss Resgrove. 


She was young—only about twenty-five or 
so—and many would have said she was de- 
cidedly handsome. But Miss Resgrove’s eyes, 
large as they were, had an expression which 
filled me with uneasiness. They were rest- 
less eyes—eyes that seemed to be too quick, 
too searching. While shé chatted to you 
carelessly, those eyes seemed to be full of un- 
rest and watchfulness. 

Resgrove’s eyes would meet yours frankly, 
steadily, twinkling with fun and laughter. 
They placed youat your ease. There was 
no mistrusting them. I felt sorry for him in 
his niece. She could, I feared, be cruel— 
deceptive. 

“Promise me that you will do something 
nes me—that you will do something for my 
sake.” 

Mr. Resgrove had made much of that little 
obligation I had conferred upon him. No 
doubt, I imagined, his memory of my father 
led him to exaggerate the incident. 

Moreover, he had taken a fancy to me. He 
had a friend, he informed me, who had a 
growing business in South America, in 


which he hoped to be able to sectire me a 


post at a salary which I should have to wait 
long, dreary years of drudgery in the bank 
to secure. 


year, “with opportunities.” 
Mr. Resgrove was distinctly worth cul- 


tivating. When I received that invitation to — 


dine at his house that night “to meet a few 
friends,” I even thought it worth while to 
take a few shillings from our little saved-up 
store to get my dress-suit out of pawn, 
where it had rested for a long time. 

I shall not forget that dinner, or the con- 


He hoped it would prove worth | 
three hundred and fifty, or four hundred a ~ 





versation in the dining-room after the ladies 
had left ts. It turned on racing—a matter 
of which I was entirely ignorant. 

“Warden is going to run to-morrow,” de- 
clared one of the guests, a young man with a 
small, sharp-featured face. “‘ Warden will 
romp home at nine to one against. I give 
you the information, Resgrove. If there is 
any one else here who wishes to make one 
pound into ten he can do so.” 

Mr. Resgrove paid no heed to him, how- 
ever, and we joined 
the ladies in the 
drawing-room, where 
later on’ there was a 
dance. Miss Emily 
Resgrove had been 
my partner in the 
last waltz, and now 
we had left the room 
and. were standing 
in the conservatory . 
in the dim light, un- 
der the nodding 
palms and with the 
scent of the flowers 
around us. 

“My uncle is occu- 


pied at the card- 
table,” she had whis- 
pered. “Come with 
me. I have some- 
“thing I want to say 
to you.” 


Then I looked at 
her in amazement as 


THE SNARE. — ta 





With a short, harsh laugh, Mr, Resgrove 
came forward. 

“Sorry to interrupt your little ieresd-tia.” 
he said. “So it was to enjoy a quiet talk 
with Mr. Fawley, was it, that you stole away, 
my pretty niece, and left the guests wonder- 
ing at your absence? Well, now be off to 
them again. Be off, I say!” 

He had walked to her. His voice was 
pleasant and playful, but as he came to her 
he laid his hands upon her shoulder. Be- 
neath that playful 
manner was it rage 
that made him shake 
‘her so that his hand, 
getting entangled in» 
the beautiful neck- 
lace she wore, broke 
it from her neck? 

I picked it up from 
the ground and gave 
it to her. Without 
a word, she slipped 
away, while Resgrove 
took my arm and 
led me away to the 
drawing-room. 

“A@ queer Tittte 
girl,” he said. “What 
was it she was say-— 
ing to you?” 

“Only speaking to 
‘me about the house 
and your friends,” [ 
answered evasively. 

“e Ah! { » 


she spoke _ those He said no more, 
words: and we entered the 
“Promise you will brilliantly dighted 
do something for me room. But Miss 
—that you will do Emily was not there! 
something for my Resgrove, going to 
sake.” seek her, returned 
“I will certainly yg Hann ue MAD KRPr IN BIS OVERCOAT Pocker With the news that 
do anything I-can,  pLasHeD FORTH WITH SOMETHING IN IT THAT She was indisposed 
Miss Resgrove,” I GLISTENED IN THE GAS-LIGHT. HE HAD with a headache. 
replied. “Unfortu- A REVOLVER POINTED AT MY FACE. I teft Mr. Res- 
nately, I am not a grove’s house that - 


person who can generally prove very use- 
ful to others.” 
“Tt is something that you can do—some- 
thing that it is for your good you should 
o,” she whispered eagerly. “ Don’t ask me 
for reasons, but do what I tell you. Never 
set foot within these doors again. Avoid all 
you have ever thet in this house or that are 
connected with it. There! Don’t ask me.” 
She turned swiftly aside, bending her eyes 
to one corner of the conservatory. In the 
darkness of that spot my eyes, following hers, 
rested on a face—a white, disk-like thing in 
which there seemed to glisten two eyes like 
little fires. : 


night with two commissions entrusted to me ~ 
to execute. 

Mr. Resgrove had handed to me ten pounds ~ 
to put on Warden in the race the next day. 

“Tf the horse goes down,” he laughed, 
“it won't do me any damage. If it wins, 
you get half.” 
It was not a commission I liked. I had 
never laid a penny on a horse in my life, - 
but I knew a man who was the agent of a 
book-maker. 

The second commission was a stranger. 
one. As I was passing through the hall a 
door was softly opened, and a hand was held 


‘out to me, with a little packet in it. 


* 


} 





= 


24> ea = 





“Don’t speak. Take it,” said a voice that 
I recognized as that of Miss Resgrove. 


- The packet held the broken necklet. 


_ “Will you please take this to a jeweler 
whom you can trust?” ran the note that was 
with it. “Take it to-morrow morning and 


_ ask him_ what he thinks of it, and what it 


# 


will cost to mend.” 
I came to the conclusion that Miss Res- 
grove must be a little mad. 
a 
<e 





CHAPTER IIL. 
I Win a Bet. 


LOOKED at the jeweler in amazement 

when he laid down the necklet and in- 
formed me that the stones in it were 
false. It seemed ridiculous to me that a 
person in the position of Mr. Resgrove’s 
niece should wear false jewels. 

And why, if the stones were false, had she 
handed the thing to me? Ladies surely do 
‘not afford acquaintances such opportunities 
of discovering their deceptions. 

“You need have no doubt about the mat- 
ter,” said the jeweler with a smile. ‘ The 
things would, no doubt, look very well on a 
person, but they won’t ‘stand any expert ex- 
amination.” 

I stuffed the necklet in my pocket and 
walked out of the shop. What was the 
‘meaning of it? Wds the thing actually 
handed to me by Miss Resgrove in order 
that I might learn the truth about it? That 
it might be a warning—something which 
might speak to me more eloquently than any 
words she might have written? 

I remembered her strange request to me 
never to come to the house again. Was I to 
discover in that necklet a reason that she 


dared not put in words: 


- All here is false—all deception! ” 

The discovery filled me with unwillingness 
to do what Mr. Resgrove had wished me to 
with ened to the betting on the horse-race. 
But if I did not carry out my part of the 
bargain would he not suspect, if the horse 
won, that I had really put the money on, and 
that I had pocketed the winnings? 

The book-maker’s agent was in his accus- 
tomed haunt in the little court, the entrances 


to which were watched by keen-eyed spies, ° 


to guard him from surprise by the police. 
He took the ten-pound note, and made an 
entry in his book. 
- “Race at two-thirty. Warden. Um! That’s 
a _long-shot. No one been on the beggar yet. 
If he wins you'll.be in luck, young gentleman. 
He'll start, I should say, at a long price.” _ 
Pondering the affair of the necklet, and 
wondering what the fate of Warden would 
be, I did my work in the bank that aay. 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


Warden had won! I could hardly believe 
my eyes as I read the fact in the evening 
newspaper. Warden had won, and the price 
against him had been eleven to one! ‘The 
book-maker would have one hundred and 
twenty pounds in his hands for me! 

The bank work was over. The great 
books were closed for the day. I took my 
hat and stick, and emerged into the "street. 
As I walked along, a hansom cab came 
driving slowly by me. 

As it passed, a piece of paper thrown from 
the person in the cab fell on the pavement 
before me. It was a piece of notepaper 
folded together. I took it up and, untwisting 
it, found written there these words: 

“Tf you have gambled on a horse to-day 
and won, don’t call for any winnings.” 

I crumpled the paper together, thrust it 
into my pocket, and walked on the quicker. 
It was a trick, I suspected, of the book- 
maker to avoid payment of what he owed me. 
What would Resgrove think if I did not get 
the money? 

The book-maker received me with no out- 
ward sign of perturbation. He-nodded to 
me, looked in his book, and proceeded to 
make up a little roll of bank-notes, which he 
handed to me. 

“You'll find that all right, I think,” he 
said, and that was all. 

“What is the matter with you to-night, 
Dick?” asked my mother that evening. 
“ Aren’é you well?, Working too hard?” 

Her watchful eyes, make keen with love, 
had detected that I was ill at ease, but I 
dared tell neither of the necklet incident nor 
of the bet, and I made some excuse. A 
short time later she kissed me good® night, 
and passed through the door to the little 
adjoining room that served as her chamber. 

I felt relieved that those examining eyes 
were gone. I could think over things now. 
To-morrow I would send that money to Mr. 
Resgrove, and return the necklet to his 
niece. There was danger—danger in that 
house to which I had looked as the place 
from which such good fortune was to come 
to me. ; 

There were steps in the little corridor, and 
a knock at the door. The door was opened, 
and a strange man appeared. He was tall, 
thin, with little gray eyes that glittered 
quickly around. His clothes were well-made, 
but showed signs of wear. % 

“You are Mr. Richard Fawley,” he said, 
closing the door behind him, and returning — 
my glance of astonishment with a steady 
stare of the little gray eyes. “I believe in 
coming to business straight, Mr. Fawley.. 
You have been betting to-day? You backed 
a horse?” 

= heard a slight noise behind me, arid turn- 


THE SNARE.” 


ing I saw that the door of my mother’s room 
was slightly opened. She had heard the 
stranger's voice, and had opened it to learn 
who was there. : 

“Silence!” I gasped. “Silence!” My 
voice dropped toa whisper as I seized his 


eet, flea 





: = 
and turned upon the man who ‘had fol- 
lowed me. ; 

“She is dead!” I shouted; “and you have 
killed her! You have killed her!” 

I stood before him; my whole body trem- 
bling with rage and my hands clenched. In 


a 











SUDDENLY I FOUND MYSELF IN THE HANDS OF THOSE TWO MEN, MY ARMS FIRMLY GRASPED, 
WHILE RESGROVE THRUST THE HANDKERCHIEF TO MY FACE, 2 


arm. “My mother is there,” I whispered. 
“She will hear what you say. Be silent, I 
tell you.” 

“So your mother is in there, is she?” he 
answered, withdrawing his arm from my 
hand and speaking none the lower. “And 
she will hear all I have to say? Well, all the 
better. In case you are not reasonable she 
may help to make you so. I say that you 
were betting to-day, and that that has only 
to be brought to the notice of the bank for 
you to be—” 


He stopped. From that little room, from . 


behind the opened door, there came a sudden 
cry, followed by a noise as of some one 
falling. I turned and rushed into the room. 
She lay there on the floor. A great terror 
seized me as I bent over her. Then I rose, 


that moment I felt that I had but one wish 
in the world—to spring upon him and tear 
him limb from limb. : 

The hand he had kept in his overcoat- 
pocket flashed forth with something in it 
that glittered in the gaslight. He had a re- 
volver pointed at my face. His hand did not 
tremble. 

“Steady! Steady!” he said, in cold, calm 
tones. “I could not guess, could I, that 
what I said would kill her? I reckon I 
would rather have had her live. Before you 
have done with me, Mr. Fawley, you'll prob- 
ably find I have enough little faults to answer 
for, without saddling me with any more 
than necessary.” 

I turned from him. My rage was swal- 
lowed up in my sorrow. And, bending over : 





Pgs = 
rod 


oD ee ae . THE LIVE WIRE. 


that lifeless figure, I burst into tears, weep- 
ing for a life that was past. — 

Had I known, I might have wept at the 
same time for a life that was to be lived. 





CHAPTER III. 
Blackmail. 


ND now, what do you want?” 

That stranger who had descended 
so unexpectedly upon me—that man who had 
entered our little sitting-room, bringing, as 
it were, the very dart of death with him— 
had remained there while I had laid that 
stricken form upon the bed, while the hastily 
summoned doctor had examined her, and 
turned to me with a grave face to tell me 
~ what I knew so well already, but what I 

had striven madly to reject as impossible. 

T left that chamber, leaving there her whose 
sorrows now were all over, and stumbled 
rather than walked into the little sitting- 

room. For some moments I was unconscious 
of the man seated there. When at last my 
eyes fell on him my blood boiled in my 
veins, and my hands clenched as I thought 
of how she had died. 

: It was he who had killed her! It was 

those brutal words of his which, falling on 

_-her ears, had dealt the fatal stroke to that 
feeble life! And she had died, believing me 
false, untrue, unworthy of her as a son! 

‘I turned to him, and the expression of 
some of that rage I felt must have shown 
itself in my face, for he leaped from the chair 
in which he had been ensconced. 

Drawing himself to his greatest height, he 
thrust forward his ugly face, with his little, 
glittering eyes gleaming into mine, with no 
shade of pity or remorse in them. 

“What do you want?” I demanded. “ Tell 
me, and go quickly.” 

“T shall go as quickly as I want to,” he 
replied. ‘Come, what is the good of being 
huffy with me? How did I know that my 
words would upset the old lady so?” 

“T am in no’mood to listen to you now,” 
I replied, walking to the door and opening 
it. “ You must come some other time.” 

“T’ve had a pretty big experience of the 
world, Mr. Richard Fawley,” he sneered, 
not stirring from the spot where he stood, 
“and I’ve learned that, in a good many 
things, there is no time like the present. No, 
no, Calling again won’t do. You don’t— 

“You miserable scoundrel!” I shouted. 
“Will you go, or shall I throw you out? 
No!” I drew myself together, remembering 

_ her who lay in the next room, and how un- 
seemly it would be to have a struggle there. 
“J will summon a_ policeman, and have you 
turned out!” 


The man laughed. 


“That’s good,” he sneered. “Do you 


know what summoning a policeman means? 


It means ruin and disgrace—disgrace to her 
name!” He waved his hand to the door 
leading into the little inner chamber. 


Disgrace to her name! The words brought — 


me to a sudden check. 

“Tell me what you mean,” I said; “ and 
in as few words as possible.” 

“ Certainly,” he replied. “ That’s business. 
What I mean is. this, Mr. Fawley. To-day 
you had a bet on a horse. Ah, you didn’t 
think that anybody else would make it their 
concern to learn that, did you? Well, you 
were mistaken. 

“And you won, too. You did well. Eleven 
to one against Warden, and you laid a ten- 
pound note. You’ve a hundred and twenty 
pounds in your pocket as you stand there.” 

“Tf you think to rob me of it,” I ex- 
claimed hotly, “you are mistaken. For all 
that revolver in your pocket, you are not 
going to handle one of those notes.” 

“We will see about that,” he retorted. “If 
you are sensible, I shall handle the whole of 
them—the whole of them, Mr. Fawley—or 
else the bank knows to-morrow morning that 
their highly esteemed and steady young clerk, 
in whom they place such implicit reliance, 
backs horses, and knows how to find a win- 
ner, too.” 

The fearful truth flashed across me then. 
The man was a blackmailer. I felt that there 
was a struggle before me, and nerved myself 
as well as I could to meet this man. I 
laughed at him defiantly. 

“You mean,” I said, “that unless I hand 
you. a sum of money, you will inform the 
manager of my bank that I have been. bet- 
ting?” 

He nodded. 

“You have realized the position exactly,” 
he replied. ‘‘ Unless you hand me the money, 
I shall consider it my duty to tell them all 
about it. You know the rules—immediate 
discharge, and without a character, too.” 

’ He chuckled. Some of the consternation 
that his words caused me must have shown 
itself in my face, hard as I endeavored to con- 
trol it. Fool that I had been! I knew the 


‘rule. What madness had made me forget it 


when I undertook Mr. Resgrove’s commis- 
sion? 

“Ah!” he chuckled; “I see you know all 
about it. Well, unless you make it worth 
my while—I’m not so hard-hearted nor such 
a fool as not to be able to blink at a bit of a 
spree on the part of a young chap—I inform 
your manager to-morrow morning... And the 
price of my silence is one hundred and ten 

pounds. 


“Tl not be hard. Tl leave you the ten-. 


, 


ve 


THE SNARE. 


pound note you laid on. There are a good 
many fellows in my position who wouldn’t 
do that.” 

I walked to the door, and threw it open. 

“Tam not such a weak fool as to agree to 
such terms,” I replied. “There is the door. 
Go! Go, or I shall throw you out!” 

He paused for a moment, and then strode 
forward. 

“T'll go,” he said; “ but don’t forget your- 
self, Mr. Richard Fawley. I will give you a 
night to think it over. My name is Thomas 
Smaile. As the doors of the bank open at 
ten to-morrow, you will see me there to tell, 
the manager. If you are sharp, you may stop 
me. If you have the notes ready, you can 
pass them to me, and Thomas Smaile disap- 
pears out of your path forever. Don’t forget 
yourself, Mr. Fawley, and good-by till then.” 

As I took my place at my desk-in the bank 
the next morning, one question Was beating 
at my brain. Should I see the hateful figure 
of that man entering the bank when the great 
doors were flung open as the clock struck 


Stent 


“You are not looking well, Fawley. What's 

up? ” 

It was one of the cashiers who spoke 
to me. 

“Great heavens, man! What are you 
doing here?” he exclaimed as I told him of 
my mother’s death. “The manager would ~ 
never have expected you. I'll tell him, and* 
he’ll send you home.” 

He was/moving away, when [ laid my hand 
upon his arm. 

“No, no,” I gasped. “I'd sooner work: 
It will help me to forget.” 

I opened the big account books that lay 
on my desk, with fingers that shook so that 
they could hardly grasp the covers. My eyes 
could not turn themselves from the door, 
save to watch the finger of the clock slowly 
dragging itself on to the fatal hour. 

May. those who say I was a coward never 
learn by bitter experience what torture as I 
endured means. But I flattered myself, as I 
sat there, waiting with the roll of notes ready 
in my breast pocket, that I might be bold 
enough when I saw him come to’ defy him 
and let him do his worst. 

The hour sounded. I heard the great bars 
that guarded the bank doors clang aside. 

~The doors were thrown open. There was a 
moment’s patise, and I gave a gasp of relief. 
Then my heart gave a great bound, and my 
‘blood ran cold in my veins. 

The man had entered, and was advancing 
toward the cashier. A smile curled his thin 
lips as he looked toward me and nodded. I 
jumped from my stool and walked swiftly 
forward to meet him. 

“Ah, Mr. Fawley,” he said, holding out a_ 





Se eee: 
* pS 
hand and nodding to the cashier, who re- 
garded him with eyes alight with quick sus- 
picion. “Iam a friend of Mr. Fawley’s, sir, 
just come to do him a little service in the sad — 
circumstances in which he is placed.’ 

He was robbing me while he spoke with 
that evil smile on his face, as surely as if he 
had taken that money from me at the muzzle 
of the revolver I knew he carried in his 
pocket. A moment later he disappeared 
through the great’ doors with steps that 
seemed to swagger with triumphant villainy. 

“Humph! Don’t think much of your 
friend, Fawley!” exclaimed the cashier as I 
returned to my desk. 

His eyes were on my face while he spoke. 
He did not think any the better of me, it was 
clear, for having a man like Smaile claiming 
my acquaintance. : 


CHAPTER IV. 
The House of Darkness. 


| GOT through the day somehow. That 

night I should have to see Mr. Resgrove 
and explain to him what had become of the 
money. The loss of the half-share in those 
winnings did not trouble me. I had always 
hated betting. Money gained in that way 
would, I felt sure, do me no good. 

Mr. Resgrove would surely not only for- 
give me, but be sorry that he had been the 
means of leading me into such a terrible 
position. If he showed signs of anger, I 
would, I resolved, pay him the money by 
instalments. ~ Scraping it together would be 
a big job, but I would manage it in time. 
Resgrove was wealthy, and could wait. 

As I turned in at the gate that admitted 
one to the gravel path under the old, smoke- 
blackened trees that shadowed it, the path 
seemed strangely dark under those trees, - 

Darkness ! 

The house stood before me dark—black 
against the night. I stared at it in wonder— _ 
that house I had seen so brilliantly lighted 
the night before, the house in which there 
had been gathered that merry company, in — 
which there had been that music and dancing. 

The unexpected sight filled me with a 
feeling of disaster. I was about to” turn 
back, when I caught sight of dim rays of 


light struggling out through the chinks of the 


closed shutters of a room at the side. = 

There was some one there. I resolved to 
ring the bell and make inquiry. 

“You want Mr. Resgrove, do you? 
inside.” 

The man who opened the door to me had 
lighted one of the gas-lights in the hall. — 
Now he closed the door behind me. 

“Mr. Resgrove and his folk have had to 


¥ 


Come 





38 THE LIVE WIRE. 


¥ 


go into the country,” he said in a harsh 
voice. “Who are you, and what do you 
want?” 

“Before I tell you,” I answered, “I should 
like to know who you are. I have not seen 
you here before, as far as I can remember.” 
_ “No,” he answered; “you have certainly 
not seen me here before. I know a good deal 
of Mr. Resgrove’s business, though, and in 
his absence am managing his affairs.” 

“My business is private,” I said. “It con- 
cerns Mr. Resgrove himself, and can be told 
to no one else.” 

A look of annoyance crossed his face. 

“So it’s private business, is it?” he re- 
marked. “ Well, you will find it to your ad- 
vantage to make a clean breast of it, young 
man. I’m Detective Bladon. Resgrove, as 
you call him, and his folk were— But never 
mind that. 

“Ym here in charge, and it’s part of my 
duty to question callers. If you are an mno- 
cent, it will be your best plan to tell me all 
you know. If you are one of the gang, you 
will doubtless keep your mouth shut, and I 
shall have to find out for myself.” 

I reeled back, and a cry of despair broke 
from my lips, echoing through the hall. In 
that moment there flashed before me the 
meaning of all that had happened. ‘The 
events of the past few days had all been parts 
of a trap! 

The fallen bank-note, the invitations to 
Resgrove’s house, the backing of the horse, 
the visit of Smaile, the blackmailing—they 
were all parts of a trap to place me in the 
power of a man who would hold me in his 
grasp, helpless as a child, and make me his 
tool by the threat of shameful exposure and 
ruin, unless I helped him in some scheme of 
villainy against the bank in which I was 
employed. 

Would they believe me if I told all now? 
I must risk it. I moistened my lips with my 
tongue to speak. The keen-eyed man before 
me nodded his head to spur me on. 

Then he suddenly bent forward, his head 
down, his nostrils quivering. He looked at 
me like a great hound whose ears had caught 
some sound of danger or who had snuffed 
the scent of it in the air. Then he darted 
past me to the back of the house with swift, 
noiseless feet, and vanished, leaving me mo- 
tionless with wonder. 

From the part of the house into which he 
had disappeared there came a sudden cry— 
the. cry of a man calling for assistance in 
hands that nearly choked him, and the noise 
of scuffling feet. I darted after him, 

The room from which the noise had come 
was in pitch darkness as I entered it, but 
some hand touched the electric switch, and 
the place was flooded with light. : 


Before me on the floor lay the man I had 
seen in the hall. While two men grasped 
his arms, another held a handkerchief to his 


face. The smell of chloroform filled the place = 


with a sickly odor. The man with the hand- 
kerchief spoke to one of his companions. 

“The chap is pretty helpless now,” he said. 
“You hold the thing to his nose till he is 
fairly off.” 

He rose from his knees and faced me. It 
was Resgrove himself. 

“Good evening, Mr. Fawley,” he said, with 
his usual smile, but with an expression in 
those eyes of ‘his I had never before seen 
there—an expression of fierce excitement and 
grim determination. ‘That fellow lying 
there has let you into something of the ex- 
planation of all this. Yes; he and his chaps 
nearly had us. We only escaped by the skin 
of our teeth—so hurriedly, that I have had 
to come back to clear off some possessions 
too valuable to be left behind. 

“Your arrival was most opportune. It 
diverted that fellow’s attention. ‘By Jove, 
you could not have done better if you had 
come on purpose. I dare say that when that 
chap comes round he’ll be prepared to say 
that you did come on purpose.” 

One of the men bending over the senseless 
detective raised himself and addressed Res- 
grove with an oath. 

“The things, you fool!” he cried. “ Will 
you stay here jawing when we may be 
pounced on any moment? The things!” 
ie darted a contemptuous glance at 
im. 

“There is no hurry,” he replied. “This is 
the very last place in the world in which the 
police would expect us to be. However, I 
will set to work. You will see to this gentle- 
man. Let him sit in that chair.” He waved 
his hand to one, and his voice suddenly 
assumed a tone of terrible threat. “You 
will sit there, Mr. Fawley, and make your- 
self as comfortable as you can.” 

He turned to one of the men. 

“You will not harm Mr. Fawley,” he re- 
marked as I seated myself, “while he sits 
quietly. If you attempt to escape or make 
yourself a nuisance,” he nodded to me, “you 
will only have yourself to thank, Mr. Fawley, 
for being a dead man.” 


Stupefied and crushed by what I had seen 


and heard, I sat there, how long I do not 
know. At last Resgrove appeared in the 
doorway, and beckoned one of his com- 
panions to him. Then, suddenly, I found 
myself in the hands of those two men, my 
arms fully grasped, while Resgrove thrust 
the handkerchief to my face. : 
When I regained my sense and looked 


around me, the detective and some policemen 


were beside me. : “ 


, 


‘THE SNARE. 


“Of course, what you say may be true,” he 
remarked, as I told him my story; “but it 
looks precious like a plant. You'll have an 
opportunity of explaining to a magistrate, 
anyway.” 

For three weeks I lay in prison, and each 
week I appeared in the police-court dock. 

“Your story,” said the magistrate at last, 
“is a remarkable one. In its most impor- 
tant points it is uncorroborated. The book- 
maker, for instance, swears that he never 
made any such bet as you speak of. On the 
other hand, a bank-note which has been 
traced to Resgrove has been found in your 
possession.” It was the ten-pound note he 
had- handed to me. 

“There is evidence that you have been in 
his company, that you visited at his house, 
and that he was all that time- bent on designs 
in which the cooperation of an accomplice in 
the bank might have aided him. All these 
things are gravely suspicious; at the same 
time, they hardly justify me in sending the 
case to a jury. You are discharged.” 

Free! Free once more! 

No, not free. In the bondage of suspicion 
and shame! The eyes of all men seemed to 
glance at me askance. I hid myself till dusk 
had gathered before I made my way to that 
cemetery where my mother had been buried 
while I had been in prison. The attendant 
showed me her°grave and left me. 

He must have forgotten me. Unconscious 
of time, I remained there while the darkness 
of night fell around me. 

Suddenly I leaped to my feet. 
been laid on my shoulder. 

Facing me-in the night gloom was the 
figure of a woman! 

I was so amazed that I could not easily 

find words, and the woman broke the silence 
first. 
* “T expected you would come here, Rich- 
ard Fawley,” she said. “ While you were in 
prison I had no means of communicating 
with you. There were those clever enough 
to have intercepted any letter which I might 
have sent you. I had to deceive the eyes of 
those who are watching you.” 

“Of those who are watching me?”’ I cried. 
“Who are they?” 

“Tam not here to reply to questions,” she 
answered. “I shall answer none if you ask 
them. Yet I think you might accept my 
‘presence as an assurance that I am a friend 
of yours. I came here at risk to myself. 


A hand had 


Even they ”’—I could see, even through the 


5 darkness, that she shuddered as she spoke— 

“will hardly suspect me of being here, nor 
will they lightly intrude in such a = as 
this.” 

“Who are they?” I ached again. 

“T have told you that I am not here to 


i 

: 39 
answer questions,” 
here to warn you. : 
“Get away from London—from England, 
if you can. Disgraced as you are—marked 
down by a brand that will sever you from 
the 
some new place, some place where you are 
not known. 


she said. “I am only 


what even now you are stspected to be.” 
They say that those whom the gods wish 


companionship of honest men—seek. 


Beware of the toils that, if you. 
remain here, will drag you down to become — 


to destroy, they first drive mad. As she 
spoke those words, I seemed to see all the 


purpose of her being there. 


“You are exceedingly kind,” I answered 


bitterly. ‘‘ You come here—you counsel me 
to fly. Shall T tell you why?” 

The figure nodded its head. 

“You want me to fly,” I said, “because 
Resgrove and his gang know that, when they 
are. caught, I 


gain them the punishment they deserve, my 
innocence will be made so clear that no one 
will doubt it. How much did Resgrove pay 


shall be the chief witness — 
against them. When I bear that witness and _ 


you to come here and try to frighten me?” 


ez 


“How much! How much!” She gasped 
the words as though they choked her. “ How 
much did Resgrove pay me? You took on 
me then as your enemy?” : 

“T look upon you as you are,” I cried 
angrily. ‘“I have been tricked so far, but I 
will be tricked no longer.” 

A deep sigh escaped her. 


“Yes, you have failed,’ I went on. “Go 


back to Resgrove and his people, and tell 
them that you have failed. I refuse to fly. 


I defy them, and they shall find what it is to 
try and wreck an innocent life! ” 

She turned and the darkness quickly 
swallowed her up. As she disappeared the 
very gloom which had enshrouded my heart 
seemed. to lift itself. I would be rid of the 
suspicion and disgrace which had attached 
itself to me, even as I was rid of that black 
figure. 

I presented myself before the Apeaed 
caretaker of the cemetery, and explained to 
him how I had been inadvertently locked in. 
Then I emerged from that gloomy place into 
the lighted roadway. 

I seemed relieved of a great burden. I 
would yet prove myself worthy of her who 
slept there so peacefully, and the world 
should do justice to Richard Fawley. ~ 





CHAPTER V. — 
Monsieur Lamonde. 
EEM down on your luck, 


old boy. 
= J What’s the matter?” . 


Tt was between miu and one o'clock 


) 





when that friendly voice fell upon my ears, 
as I was stumbling along a London street 
in the West End. I had parted with the last 
of my possessions in a bitter struggle to 
obtain employment. 

Week after week had gone by, and each 
day had brought its blasted hopes that I 
should obtain a situation of some kind which 
would at least provide me with a means of 


living. Those terrible words of the magis- 


trate, “although there be grave suspicion,’ 
had beaten me back from every door to 
which I had applied. 

Vhere were you last employed? What 
is your character? Richard Fawley? Why, 
bless my soul, aren't you the man there was 
such a fuss about a few weeks ago?” 

Such were the questions asked me where- 
ever I went. It was as if I had presented 
myself with some deadly plague upon me. 
The very offices to which other people re- 
sorted in order to obtain employment were 
shut to me. 

“ Richard Fawley. H’m, the fellow who 
was mixed up in Resgrove’s affair. Sorry 
we haven’t got any place that will suit you. 
Not a single situation on our books we 
could recommend you to apply for.” 

That was what I heard at office after 
office. 


“Look here, Fawley,’ said one who was 


' more friendly than the rest, as he banged 


his book to when I gave him my name, 
“don’t you think it’s a bit thick coming to 
me, and asking me to recommend you to a 
client? He might take you, you know, not 


‘knowing who you are—and mind you, I 


don’t say you’re not as innocent as a daisy— 
but if he cut up rough, what could I say? 
He’d say a nice agency that, and all that 
kind of thing!” 

His words sounded the more terrible to me 
in the state of weakness to which I had 
come through want of food. I staggered 


-back from the table at. which I had been 


standing and sank into a chair. 

“hen what is to become of me?” I 
eried.> =~ 

He sprang to my side and laid his hand 
upon my shoulder. 

“Took here,” he said, “don’t go fainting, 
or anything of that kind. I have only put 
a thing to you which ought to be as plain 
to you as the nose upon your face. What 
you're to do, I don’t know. It needs all a 
fellow’s wits to get along himself without 
tackling the problems of other people. You 
must think it out for yourself, and here’s a 
bit that may serve to keep you going while 
you do it.” 

He pressed a half-crown into my hand as 
he spoke. 

Now, this night when the stranger accosted 


4 


_THE LIVE WIRE. : : 


me in the West-End street, I was homeless, 
hopeless, and again penniless. 

“Seem down on your luck, old boy. What's 
the matter?” 

I mumbled some words in reply, I hardly 
knew what, and shuffled on. We were pass- 
ing under a gas-light, when he laid his hand 
upon my shoulder, and brought me to a sud- 
den halt, placing himself before me‘ and look- 
ing at me with a keen eye. 

“Your face is like a book to me,” he said. 
“You're some fellow that the world is 
treating roughly. I should say you hadn’t 
had a good square meal for three days.” 

He was a man of about forty-five, tall, 
and well made, with a handsome face. His 
overcoat, thrown back, revealed that he was 
in evening dress. 

“T can read you like a book,” he said 
again with a little laugh. ‘‘ No, you haven’t 
had a square meal for three days. I can see 
that in your eyes, and what’s more, you don’t 
think you’re going to get one. Not got 
many friends, eh? Why, you look upon me 
as if I wanted to rob you.” 

He broke into a laugh at the idea, 

“Well, I’m not. I’m one who can help a 
lame dog over a stile. Perhaps I’ve been 
a lame dog myself once. Look here, here's 


~ my-card. Call upon me to-morrow, and I'll 


see what I can do for you; and as I don’t 
want to be worried by a gentleman who looks 
like a ghost that has lost its grave and 
couldn’t find its way back, take that for a 
bed, and good dreams!” 

He strode away with a laugh, leaving me 
there transfixed with astonishment, clutching 
that card and the coin he had thrust with it 
into my hand. It was: gold—a sovereign! 

It gleamed there in the palm of my hand, 
speaking of food, shelter, rest. More than 
all that, it spoke a message of hope to me— 
of the confidence and the sympathy of its 
giver. What a fool I should be, in my hope- 
less state, if I did not make the best of both. 

Tt was through the man that I met so 
strangely that night that I became man- 
servant to M. Lamonde. 

“Tt’s horribly awkward history, Fawley,” 
said my new-found friend, when I told him 
my story. “I will see what I can do. You 
will only get a situation with some people 
who are a little above the ordinary narrow- 
minded views of the world.” 

Monsieur and his wife, Mme. Lamonde, 
were certainly not people of the ordinary 
world. Their flat in the West End was 
superbly furnished. Lamonde professed to 
belong to an ancient family in France with 
large estates. 

I very quickly came to the conclusion that 
his chief income was obtained by means of 
dinners he gave to rich young fools—dinners 





THE SNARE. 





M, LAMONDE WENT CRASHING BACK AMONG THE GILDED DRAWING-ROOM CHAIRS AND LITTLE TABLES, | 
_AS I DASHED IN THE SCOUNDREL’S FACE THE HANDFULS OF GOLDEN COIN. 


at which the champagne passed round quickly 
and over which Mme. Lamonde presided, 
sparkling i in sham diamonds. Cards followed 
in that little quiet room in which, as I came 
in sometimes to bring refreshments to the 
players, my eyes rested on heaps of gold 
and bank-notes lying on the table. 
Monsieur and his wife were swindlers— 
card-sharpers—cheats. I hated myself for 
ever assisting in their designs as I helped 
those fools who played with them to the 
-Jiquor which made them play more and more 
incautiously. 
But monsieur and madame were exceed- 
ingly kind to me. I could hardly understand 
- how it was they were so ready to excuse the 
blunders I made. How was I, fresh from a 
bank desk, to know‘of the duties of a waiter? 
- -"You are a bit of what they call the 
plockhead, Fawley,” remarked the gentleman 
one day when I had made some unusually 
stupid mistake. 


learn—we live and learn. We must have pa- 


“But, my child, we live and’ 


tience—patience. There is much of virtue 
in patience, my son.’ 

It was impossible to help liking a man who 
treated one like that, and madame was his 
equal. 

But one night there ceased to be virtue in 
patience. Even now my blood tingles in my 
veins at the remembrance of the affair that 
happened. 

Young Lord Vallence was, Mme. Lamonde 
had told me, to be one of the dinner-party. 
He was a young fellow with light yellow 
hair, and a face full of the insolence of 
wealth. He was enormously rich, and his 
manner was that of one who despised all who 
were not as lucky as he was himself. __ 

The dinner was in full progress when some 
action of mine seemed to catch his lordship’s 
eye. He fixed his single gold-rimmed eye- 
glass in his eye and stared at me. 

=f say, Lamonde,” he exclaimed, “ ‘your 
cooking is splendid, your wine is of the 
best. I flatter myself that I know such 





wae 


Ding: What then is the blot on the whole 
aivairer: = 

“The blot? Ha, ha! Your lordship was 
always fond of the little joke,” exclaimed M. 
Lamonde. “But no”—as he caught. sight 
of Lord Vallence’s face—‘ it is not a joke? 
Then I am the most miserable of men.” 

“T's not your fault, Lamonde, I guess,” 
‘snapped his lordship. ‘“ You’re a smart fel- 
low, but one never knows when one may be 
being victimized. Come here, fellow!” 

These last words were addressed to me. 

“What do you call this chap?” he asked 
Lamonde. 

“Smith,” replied Lamonde, with a quick 
glance at me. 

Vallence laughed derisively. 

“Smith! That’s the flame he passes under, 
is it?” he exclaimed. “M. Lamonde and 
ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you that you 
have had the honor of having your glasses 
filled by a fellow who ought to be, doing 
time in one of her majesty’s prisons.” 

He took up his glass of wine and, rising 
from his chair, advanced to me, while [ stood 
astounded and gasping with the shame of 
that denunciation. I heard a little scream 
‘break from the lips of the ladies at the 
table. 
~ “Vou are mistaken — surely mistaken, 
Lord Vallence,” cried M. Lamonde. “The 
young fellow is as the day honest. It is a 
hideous mistake.” 


oa 


Lord Vallence drew nearer and nearer to. 


me. 


“Tt was an accident that took me to the 


court when I saw that nice young chap in the 
dock,” he cried. “Look here, fellow,” he 
sneered to me, “you are Fawley, the bank- 
er’s clerk—the chap who escaped by the skin 
of his teeth from the penal servitude that 
you deserved. And you have the impudence 
to wait on ladies and gentlemen. Take 
that!” 

Before I could guess his intention he had 
dashed the contents of his wine-glass in my 
face. I darted out my clenched fist at the 
sneering face that was thrust forward to me, 
and would have leaped upon him, but some 
of the men had jumped from their seats at 
the table and threw their arms round me, 
and hustled me from the room. 

“You are a liar and a scoundrel!” I cried 
as I was thrust out of the door. From that 
room there came the hoarse laugh of Lord 
Vallence rejoicing in my shame. 

My shame! Can any one who has not 
passed through such an experience imagine 
what it was? But for a trick of fate I 
might have been among those persons who 
sat at that table! I was a mere waiter on 


THE LIVE- WIRE. 


And that glass of wine in my face—that 
cruel outrage on my self-respect—made my 
pulses beat with the desire for revenge. 

My opportunity came a week later. Lord 
Vallence had, I had reason to believe, been 
often to that house, but Lamonde and 
madame had kept me out of-his sight. 

Mme. Lamonde was in tears. She was 
pretty, and she had been kind to me. I 
would do much for madame. 

“Fawley,” she said to me, her face white, 
her hands clasping at the necklet that en- 
circled her throat, “we have been kind to 
you, have we not?” 

“You have,” I said. 
never forget.” 

“Never forget!” she cried. 
get!” 

“When I was starving, when no one else 
would help me,” I replied, “ you took me and 
gave me bread and shelter.” 

“You remember that,” she said. 
remember that you will help us.” 

“Tf I can help you, you may count on me,” 
I answered. 

She looked at me as if even then in doubt, 
but nerving herself to speak. 

“ And you remember Lord Vallence?” she 


“How kind, I can 


“Never for- 


“Tf you 


asked. 


My face gave her my reply. Lord Vallence, 
she told me, was to come there that night. 
He would play cards with her husband. He 
would bring his own cards. He suspected 
M. Lamonde. 

“Tf my husband wins a thousand pounds 
from Lord Vallence—Lord Vallence to 
whom a thousand is nothing—we are saved,” 
she said. 

“T most heartily hope he will,” I said. 

“But my husband will not win if you do 
not help us,’ she answered. 

How shall I describe that night when, 
hidden in the room, I signaled to M. La- 
monde the cards that the man who sat oppo- 
site to him held in his hand? I could not 
see Lord Vallence’s face. I did not hear his 
voice. But from my hiding-place I could see 
the cards he held, and I signaled each one to 
the calm-faced man who played with him. 

It was my revenge for the affront Lord 
Vallence had passed upon me. 
that they played I remembered the glass of 
wine Lord Vallence had thrown in my face. 
And now each moment he was paying for it 
with his gold! 

The game was over at last. 


the hall to watch Lord Vallence’s face as he 
left the house—the house where he was 
leaving so much of those riches that made 
him hard and cruel to others who were poor. 


Each moment’ 


: 4 I crept from : 
my hiding-place, and waited in a corner of 


those who might, had fate been kind to me, — I staggered back as I caught sight of his — 


have waited on me. 


face, as I heard his voice. 


- 





THE SNARE. 


“So you have got the better of me by five 
thousand pounds, Lamonde,” he said care- 
lessly. “What a fool I am! That money 
might have gone to some good purpose, I 

suppose. And here I am—rooked out of it.” 
He shrugged his shoulders. 

I caught a good sight of him as he lighted 
his cigar, and went away humming a tune. 

The next minute I was in the deserted 
drawing-room with M. and Mme. Lamonde. 
The electric lights threw their gleams over 
monsieur, with his face aglow with triumph— 
over madame, with her glittering sham dia- 
monds and her pale haggard face. 

“Vou don’t knock at the door, Fawley,” 
said M. Lamonde, with a little laugh. “ When 
will you learn the manners of a man who has 
to wait on a gentleman?” 

“When I have a gentleman to wait on, 
perhaps,” I answered. “Not a swindler.” 

Madame turned’ pale. Monsieur laughed, 
and puffed at the cigarette he was smoking. 

He nodded to me. 

“To-night,” I said, “I have acted the part 
of an accomplice in a piece of swindling. 
You know how I came to do so, how I hated 
Lord Vallence and, in my hatred, would 
have him suffer.” 

Lamonde nodded to me. 

“Quite natural,” he said. “After the 
manner in which Lord Vallence behaved to 
you, I don’t wonder at it. Well, you have 
had your revenge. Lord Vallence has paid 
for it to the tune of five thousand pounds.” 

His hands went to his pocket, and he drew 
“out and laid before me heaps of glittering 
coins on the table. 

“ And there is your reward,” he said. 

“ But the man who lost that money to you,” 


(To be continued. ) 


43 


I said, 
have had my revenge.” 

M. Lamonde looked at me for a— moment, 
and then he laughed. 

“Ah! You have found that out,’ he ex- 
claimed. “Look at that golden heap, Faw- 
ley, and listen to me. Fix your eyes on the 


‘is not the man on whom I would : 


golden heap while I speak to you. I will be x 


candid. Every word- shall be true. 


“We wanted a man who would help us to- 


night, when the real Lord Vallence should 
come here, and we could find none but you. 
We played a false Lord Vallence on you 
some days ago, so that we might use you— 
reckon on your feeling of revenge to help us 
in our little trick against the real man. You 
did your work beautifully.” 


He paused, with a little laugh, eying me. 


the while. 


“T am perfectly straight with you now, 


Fawley,” he said. “ You would never have 
helped us if you had not got your little 
imaginary grievance against Lord Vallence. 
Well, we managed that, and here we are. 
There are one hundred sovereigns there, and 
you are welcome to them”—he paused for 
an instant—“as our accomplice.” 

Fool that I had been! That affront passed 
on me at the dinner—that hateful false Lord 


Vallence that monsieur had imposed upon — 
I had helped him 


me—all was.a falsehood! 
to rob an innocent man—a man who had 
never done me wrong. 


M. Lamonde went crashing back among 
the gilded drawing-room chairs and the little 
tables, at which he vainly clutched to prevent 


his fall, as I dashed in the scoundrel’s face 
the handfuls of golden coin that he had 
placed on the table. 


THE SOFT ANSWER WINS. 


T happened on an ocean liner, the cap- 
tain of which is as excellent a diplomat 
as he is a sailor. On this occasion the wife 
of one of the most influential directors of 
the line was having her first experience with 
the Atlantic. 
She was an imperious woman, accus- 
tomed. for many years to her own way. 
When the ship began to roll and the motion 


became disagreeable, she promptly sent for” 


the captain. -An attempt to substitute a 
steward was dismissed with scorn, and the 

ence of the crashes of the vessel de- 
manded without delay. . 

_ The second Sormmand ‘produced the 
purser, but he, too, was sent unceremoni- 
ously about his business. Then the third 

--and the first officer successively tried to 





sacrifice themselves for the peace of mind 
of their chief. It was all useless, and at last 
the captain reluctantly appeared. 

“T wish you to stop this rolling at once,” 
said the great lady in her coldest tones. 
“Tt is very disagreeable, and it has gone on 


quite long enough.” 


““ 


“Madam,” replied the tactful seaman, 
ship, as you. know, is feminine, and if she 
wants to roll I fear I can no more stop her 
than I could help coming here when you 
wished to see me.” 


A wan smile passed over the unhappy — 


woman's features, now assuming a greenish 
hue, and she closed her eyes. 
“Very well, sir,” she murmured, 
roll.” 
The nian obeyed. 


“Tet her 


ay 


~— 





tA 








Ink When 


a Bet. 








| else could you put it?” 


He Threw 
a Bottle of 


Asked to 
Decide 


/4 ORRILL GODDARD, the well- 
known New York editor, was 
finishing up a hard day’s work 
the other day when the office- 

boy reported that a delegation from the 
engine-house would like to interview 
the “Query Editor.” “ Bring them in,” 
said Goddard, “I guess I can fill the 
Query Editor’s place.” 

“The question, sir,” said the chair- 
man of the delegation, “is an important 
one and more difficult to answer than 
you might suppose. We have wagered 
a matter of three cigars on it, which 
adds to the interest.” 

“Tire away,” replied Goddard, “ Tem- 
pus is fugiting.” 

“Well, you see it is this way,” ex- 
plained the spokesman: “over in our 
district there were two men named 
John Jinks, and they were father and 
son. Is that clear?” 

“Perfectly. Proceed.” 

“Well, last night they were both 
burned to death, and in making up a 
list of those who lost their lives the 
boys insist on putting down John Jinks, 


_ senior, and John Jinks, junior.” 


“Quite right,” asserted Goddard. 
“That’s what we came to ask about. 


- Of course, it would be clear who was © 


meant, but technically—” 

“Technically, it is perfectly right,” 
interrupted Goddard. 

courer 

“Sure! Of course I’m sure. How 


jo 
7 - 





“WHAT DID THE 


BY SAM-LOYD. 













EDITOR SAY? 


And the 
Blot On 
the Wall 


Tells 
What 
He Said. 






“Oh, if you are so dead sure, we 
won't dispute it, but the technicalities 
should be taken into consideration. 
That's the way it seems to me.” 

“What in thunder have technicalities 
to do with the case?” thundered God- 
dard. 

“Well,” said the spokesman with 
much. deliberation. “I figure it out 
somewhat differently. You see, the old 
man lived down-stairs, and the boy on 
the top floor. Consequently, it stands 
to reason that the old man burned first.” 

“Well, what of it?” demanded God- 
dard. 

“Why, when the old man died the 
young man ceased to be junior, conse- 
quently, there was no John Jinks, Jr., 
to die. That’s the way I figure it out, 
but, of course, a Query Editor knows 
best, and if you say—’ 

The chairman of the delegation 
dodged a bottle of red ink which barely 
grazed his head, and precipitately with- 
drew, but as I chanced to be present 
and heard the editor’s ejaculation as the 
bottle was thrown, I wish to say, per- 
haps because I am a puzzlist, or a 
natural born palmist, or it may be sheer 
imagination—but when TI see ~ that 
smudge F can read the exclamation of 
the editor just as if it were printed in 
poster type, so I wish to know if it is 
as clear to others as it is to me. Can 
you tell what the editor said from the 
ink-daub reproduced at the top of this 
page? : 





44. 

















= rs : ; 2 








a 





_ ‘THE EXPERIENCED CADDIE (MORE IN SORROW THAN IN ANGER): “ AIN’T THERE VO WORD FOR 
‘Tr, sin?”—London Sketch, ; : 3 


= 45 










= HE’’ ALLEN, so Theodore 
Roosevelt said when he was 
police commissioner, was “ the 


wickedest man in New York.” 

Yet Henry ‘Ward Beecher once saved 
his life. 

Allen put out a barkeeper’s eye with the 
lighted-end of a cigar. 

Yet he gave fifty thousand dollars to 
Lincoln’s second campaign fund. 

An indictment for murder stood against 
Allen twenty-two years. 

Yet he adopted three waifs merely be- 
cause he liked children. 

Allen’s gambling-house was .taided one 
hundred and twelve times, and he was ar- 
rested so often that he could never remem- 
ber the dates. 

Yet in time of war he risked his own life 
to serve with the Federal armies, and while 
acting as a spy was sentenced to death. Mr. 
Beecher discovered his plight just in time 
to save his life by despatching a hasty tele- 
gram to Secretary Stanton, who instantly 
ordered his release. 

This strange man died the other day at 
the age of seventy-five, after having spent 
three hundred thousand dollars to keep out 
of jail. He was the son of a Methodist 
preacher, and passed his early years around 
the lower end of Manhattan Island, where 
he was born. He was employed by a Maiden 
Lane tailor on the particular day which 
marked the determining of his career. He 
had been despatched to the Astor House 
with a new uniform for General Winfield 
Scott. Before he reached the hotel, he be- 


came involved in a fight with another small — 


boy. Next to young Allen’s opponent, 
the new uniform suffered the most 
damage, and “The” wisely decided to 
hunt for another job. 

© Billy” Dancer, rated then as New 
York’s leading gambler, and whose 
house, at No. 8 Barclay Street, was 
the scene of many “big plays,” wit- 
nessed the boyish battle, and was so 
impressed by the gameness and skill of 


Allen that he paid for the ruined uniform ~ 


and put the lad to work around the gam- 
bling-house. There he rapidly acquired the 
rudiments of the profession, and there also 
was shaped the character that later fur- 
nished the toughest problem for the New 
York courts and the police. The ambitious 
boy took deep into his heart Dancer’s rules 
of conduct of a “gentleman sporting man”: 


Never play against another man’s game. 

Never take a long chance. 

Never take a partner in any sporting 
enterprise. : 

Never violate a confidence, whatsoever 
the provocation. 

Never discuss or make public. the play 
of your patron. 

Never tell a lie unless to shield some 


one who can’t face the music, whether it. 


be yourself or some other man. 2 
Never be backward in paying your debts. 
Prompt pay, right away. 
Never surrender what you consider your 
rights. Fight for them with all your might. 
7 : 


= 

Though it is charged that “The” Allen 
and his brother “Wes” waxed wealthy by 
their shady connection with war bounties, 
the fact remains that he enlisted and served 
throughout the Civil War as a lieutenant in 











~Lincoln’s second campaign. 


his whole checkered career. 
he told it: 


the Twenty-Fifth New York Infantry. He 


also contributed fifty thousand dollars to 
While serving 
in the war he had what he himself consid- 
ered the narrowest escape from death of 
Here is how 


7 


= *T went into the first battle of the war 


and remained in the service until the last 





one was fought. Six months after enlisting 
I was assigned to the secret service. I as- 
sumed the rdle of a fugitive from the South- 
ern States and went to Montreal, had a 
reward of fifty thousand dollars placed on 
my head, and, to get information for my 
government, joined the raiders in their at- 
tacks on St. Albans, Vermont. I was cap- 
tured there by the United States forces and _ 




































“WICKEDEST MAN IN NEW YORK.” 


sentenced to be executed ‘bright, and aie 


the next morning. 


“Tt was Henry Ward Besther who saved 


my life by very prompt action. He was- 


billed to speak in St. Albans on the day of © 
my arrest, and, learning who I was, heat 
once laid the facts before Secretary Stan- = 


ton in a long telegram. The message from 





ce 


Washington to General Schofield, in com-— : 


mand at St. Albans, which gave me my lib- — 


erty and life, came just in the nick of time.” 
Returning from the war, “The”-Allen— 


became one of the conspicuous figures in 


the under-life of the great city, always re- 


membering with jealous tenacity his old = : 


preceptor’s advice about fighting for one’s — 
rights. He then weighed one hundred and 


thirty-six pounds, was sinewy,as quick as a 


cat, and possessed the courage that 


took a scornful delight in facing 
superior odds. In those days roug’ 
and-tumble fighting reached the 
flower of its expression, and ° ‘ma: 
hem was simply a trifling detail. 

“The” Allen’s power in the bi 
ginning was purely physical, but ; 
he progressed in wealth and influ-— 


foresight which would have been 


wholesome levels “of a public ca- 
reer. He, went into politics, and 
was interested in several resorts 
which the police never molested. — 
“Eddie” Molloy, a big-hearted, 


Spring Street. 
moods, could be as tender and sym- 
pathetic as a woman. He adopte 
three children. One of them he 
picked up from a doorstep; and the 
boy, now grown to manhood, holds 


tution. é 
So, what was more natural than 


“oHE” ALLEN IN THE: Bovis MIX- uP THAT ATTRACTED THE ATTENTION oF A- = 


$ GAMBLER AND THEREBY ‘DETERMINED THE NATURE OF HIS — OSS 


4.LW == 








the making of a man treading the ~ 


big-fisted man, was his partner in 
a gambling-house in Broadway, near 
Allen, in some of his — 








that “The” should pick up a half- _ 







ence he brought into play a mind 
singularly subtle and acute, anda ~ 


a high position in a banking” insti- 























: night? e 


Rh 


was dismissed by the 





_ len never 


once charged with 


wickedness. 


“dred 


; ministration. 


stood against him for 


‘William - Travers 
_ rome. 


this point was long and bitter. 


THE 


Seecved. cat on his way to Molloy’s place one 
He was feeding it with milk when 
Molloy came in and took a hand in the kind 
This is the story Allen told. 
And-no one could say him either yea or 
nay, for he and Molloy were alone in the 





~house at the time; but when Allen departed, 

a short time afterward, the other man was 
~ dead, — with 
_- Allen’s — 

--was that his gun had 


a bullet-wound in his side, 


explanation 


fallen from his pocket 
to the floor and ex- 
ploded. 

He was indicted for 
murder, and the charge 


twenty-two years, but 


present District At- 
rorney of New York, 


Je- 


After his arrest for 
Molloy’s murder, Al- 
“packed a 
gun,” though he had 
always done so =p to 
that time. 

But it was not the 
fact that Allen. was 


‘murder, or the other 
fact that for a year 
he conducted a dive, 
that gave him his 
reputation for extreme 
His 
notoriety rested almost 
solely upon his deter- 
mination to run pool- 
rooms in defiance of 
the law. He believed 
that if it was wrong 
to bet on races outside 
of race-track  enclos- 
ures, it was equally 
wrong to lay wagers upon the performances 
of horses at the ringside. 
law permitted gambling at the tracks, Allen 


~ determined that he had an equal right to 


gamble away from the tracks. 

The fight between Allen and the police on 
Scores upon 
‘scores of times the officers broke down his 
front doors, only to find two or three hun- 
white men and negroes jumping 
through windows or rushing pell-mell from 
room to room. Allen was never found on 
the premises, even on occasions when it was 


known that he was in the building when the 
raid began. 
E cellar by means of which escape was easy, 


‘He had a trap-door into the 


* 





“THE” ALLEN, GAMBLER, WHO GAVE $50,000 


TO HELP ELECT LINCOLN 
LIFE WAS ONCE SAVED BY HENRY 
WARD BEECHER. 


And since the~ 


right. 


Wi 


LIVE WIRE. 


since a tunnel led from the celler to the- 
street — = : 

Nor did the police, on such occasions, ever 
find any evidences of gambling. Not a pool- 
ticket,ea list of horses, or anything suggest-_ 
ing gambling on race-track performances 
was lying about. But, in the old-fashioned 
fireplaces with which the building was fur- 
nished, it was at length observed that there 
were always bright 
fires. And these fires, 
let it be explained, 
were not to keep the 
gamblers from getting 
cold feet. They were 
kept blazing to de- 
stroy, on short notice, 
evidence that the po- 
lice might otherwise 
get in the event of a 
sudden raid. 

Thanks to such acts 
of thoughtfulness, Al- 
len was always acquit- 
ted. Though every- 
body knew that the 
places raided were 
pool-rooms, and_ that 
Allen owned them, no 
one could prove it. 
All the police could 
tell the judge and the 
jury was that at a cer- 
tain place, at a certain 
time, they found a 
number of men who 
had unquestionably 
been playing the races. 
But the gamblers them- 
selves could not tell 
with whom they had 
been betting. The 
wagers were always” 
placed through a cur- 
tained window to a~ 
man secreted in a 
closed cage. Neither 
party to the transaction ever saw the other. 

Allen and the police kept up this game of 
hide-and-seek until two years ago, when, 
broken by the infirmities of age, the veteran 
gambler retired. He had always said that 
he would not quit under fire, but he did. 
And he carried with him a grudge against ~ 
the rich owners of race-tracks that nothing 
could soothe. He said they would soon be 
compelled to cease gambling at the tracks, 
and made a pretty good guess as to the time 
their finish would come. Two years ago 
this yery summer he said he wanted to live 
two years more, as he then would have sur- 
vived the era of the bookmaker. He was 
The bill ae book-making at 


AND WHOSE 


= & 





“THE” ALLEN, “WICKEDEST MAN IN J 























. 


BREAKING IN THE HEAVY IRON DOORS OF ALLEN’S POOL-ROOM, wai CH WAS RAIDED MORE THAN ~ 
A HUNDRED a THOUGH THE POLICE WERE ae ABLE TC CON eee Tue PROPRIETOR. roe 


& 






New. York race-tkacks became a law in: Allen always ae that he - ake “have = 


June. Allen died in May, and thus missed avoided much of his trouble with the police 
‘the satisfaction of © seeing: the final rout if he ‘had consented to be blackmailed by 
of his old foes. = =< , 2 them, This, he said, he- would. never do. 









cae etek: at one- a his. trials, if = knew a 
certain officer who had testified against him 
_-_-the day before, Allen replied: 
_ “Why, that fellow met me one night at 
the corner of Fifth Avenue and Clinton 
---* Place. He told me that he wanted to get 
out of town, that he only had fifteen cents, 
ie would give him fifty dollars he 
leave. I refused to give him a cent. 









~ Policemen Bob Up Everywhere. 


ae ~~ *Fust then I. turned around, and there, 
flat on his stomach at my feet, lay a big 
eman. The head of another one was 
: sticking out of a coal-hole, More police- 
men were watching me in the doorways, 
and some were peering through the fences 
-around the corner,’ 
= eaves however, was never at his best ex- 
“when he was in a fight. There he 
ne. Extravagant friends have said that 
ould lick his weight in wildcats. This 
is doubtful. But he could fick twice or 
z _ three times his weight in human flesh. One 
aa day he boarded a Broadway car near Co- 
__ lumbus Circle. The car was crowded. 
Among the many standing was an old Ger- 
man washerwoman, who was having great 
difficulty in keeping her feet while trying to 
retain her hold on a basket of laundry. 
“The” sized up the situation, and reached 
the conclusion that a man who was com- 
_ fortably seated in front of the German 
‘woman should give her his seat. This con- 
clusion he mentioned to the man. The man 
~  couldn’t see it that way. “The” couldn’t 
— see it any other way. Allen grabbed him 
by the collar. Out shot the man’s good 
; right. “The” came back like a bursting fly- 
Z wheel. A bystander, who regarded Allen 
: as in the wrong, joined the attack. “The” 
-. took care of him, too. By the time the car 
had gone three’ blocks, Allen had whipped 
both men, and kicked up such a fuss that 
the German washerwoman, who was the in- 
— nocent cause of it all, had the whole car to 
herself. 











THE LIVE WIRE. 


~ And he never lost his nerve until he died. 


Stricken with locomotor ataxia, that dread- 


disease that all but paralyzes the legs while 
leaving the rest of the body unharmed, he 


heard the doctor’s sentence of slow death. — 


He disputed his physician. He said his grit 
would bring him through. He offered 
twenty thousand dollars to any one who 
would cure him. Offers of “cures” came 
aplenty. 
never seen wrote to him. Each one knew 
how to fix locomotor ataxia. Just do this, 
or do that, and he would be all right. 

But he wasn’t. The disease kept creep- 
ing. 
month the stillness that spells death settled 
deeply and more deeply over his muscles. 
What he did yesterday he couldn’t do to- 
day, and what he could do to-day he was 
morally certain he could not do to-morrow. 

Some of his friends began to say their 
last farewells. Allen told them to do their 
weeping elsewhere. One young gambler 
offered to bet “The” a thousand dollars 
that he would not live six months. Allen 
snapped up the wager as a dog snaps up a 
pestiferous fly. 


Allen’s Last Phone Call. 


And when midnight of the last day speci- 
fied in the wager came around it was Allen 
himself who answered the telephone and 
replied that he was alive. He had to be 
carried from his bed; his face was like a 
gray cloud; the hand that held the receiver 
was like the hand that holds Death’s scythe; 
but his weak voice still carried its old note 
of defiance. He had won the thousand dol- 
lars, he was still above ground, and he 
would stay atop of the sod until success 
should crown the efforts of Governor 
Hughes to outlaw race-track gambling in 
New York. 

He didn’t quite do it. But the first spears 
of grass had barely pricked through the roof 
of his grave before a greenish carpet began 
to spring up in the betting-rings. 





DOLLAR BILLS WORTH THEIR WEIGHT IN GOLD. 


~“F\OLLAR bills are worth almost their 
LY’ weight in gold,” a bank president said 
‘the other day to a depositor.: 

“Yes, I suppose they come in handy for 
change and are easy to carry,” the Geperis 
tor replied absently. ; 

“No, I was speaking literally,” the Sant 
president said. “We got into an argument 


in the bank here the other day as to how 


much a dollar bill Wegheee A twenty-dol- 





Men and women whom he had ~ 


Week after week, and month after — 


# 


lar gold piece weighs five hundred and forty = 


grains. We found that twenty-seven crisp, 


- new one-dollar bills weigh the same as a 
We tested some 


twenty-dollar gold piece. 


bills that had been in use and found that it | 


took but twenty-six of them. to balance the 


gold piece. I suppose that twenty-six used 


bills gather an accumulation of dirt in pass- 


ing from hand to hand that Sone about 


what one new bill does,’ ve 


















-MTRI KORINSKI, the new assistant 
| engineer, gazed out through the win- 
-dows of the engine-room into the 
spacious yard of the Cyclops Steel 
= Wisi Before him, like a tapering tower, 
: ee the huge brick smoke-stack, thrusting 
_ its gray, rolling billows into the clouds. The 
"chimney stood free in the center of the court, 
and communicated by an underground duct 
with the furnace-room. 
~ Its shadows fell directly toward Korinski 
: across the sunny ground, and darkened the 
window at which he stood. Masons were at 
_ work repairing or altering the broad base. 
_ Part of this had been cut away, and jack- 
screws temporarily supported the immense 
_— weight. 
Fees PERL Korinski was sunk in desperate 
; thought. In his hand he held a torn envel- 
ope. Though few suspected it, he was an 
anarchist, from Novgorod, one whose work 
in the brotherhood consisted more of thought 
“than” action. His violent words burned like 
_ fire in many a pabication devoted to the 
J=cquses = -- 
‘Some fatal warp or kink in his destiny had 


turned awry the currents of his human sym-. — 


~“ pathies and caused him to embrace the red 
f chaos. He had become a volcano of 









He deemed it ignoble to accept pai 
o he. Se hhimselt — a8 


his writings were winged with bristle. 


a - dightnings: and seared like molten lava. STS 





he had been twitted by some of his rasher 
colleagues. 

“ All words and no deeds,” they said. “ All 
mouth and no hands.” 

These words had rankled and festered in~ 
little Korinski’s heart. He resolved that some 
day he would show them that the man of 
thought was greater than the man of deeds; 
that he could act as well as think and write. 

Five years ago persecution had driven him 
to the United States, where he had obtained 
work as assistant engineer. He had been 
faithful and industrious in the service of the 
Cyclops Works, yet for all that he had been 
discharged. The directors wished to re- 
duce expenses and he had been given a 
week’s notice. Mallon, his chief, had been 
very friendly with him. 

“Tl see what I can do to keep you on,” 
he had said. 

Yet here lay the final discharge in his 
hand—cold, brief, pitiless. Korinski’s heart 
was like a flaming coal within him; his blood 
tore like lava through his veins. It was the 
old story—the rich against the poor, capital 
against labor, the powerful against the 
helpless. : 

Against the helpless! 
helpless, then? No! His time for action had 
come. He would vindicate—nay, glorify — 
himself in the eyes of his colleagues. a = 
would see! = 

At the thought his small black — eyes. glit- 
tered like agates, his swarthy cheeks flushed 
with fire, and his coal-blz ack hair seemed. to 
strength of many men. 

s! the means! 










Was he so very 


Tn his undersized, illshapen body he sete 


He scorned a 
thods Son the Bae r= 





IN THE PATH OF THE AVENGER. 


His plans, once perfected, must display some 
originality, some stroke of his master-genius. 

A party of some seven men crossed the 
yard without. They wore frock coats and 
silk hats. 

“The directors!” muttered Korinski. 

They passed between him and the great 
brick chimney. As they traversed its shadow, 
a hideous thought leaped into the Russian’s 
mind. If only the chimney might fall and 
crush them! If only by pulling upon a lever, 
or pressing upon a button, he might cause 
that lofty pillar of brick to topple over on 
these enemies of mankind! 

They were going to the company’s offices, 
these elegant men of wealth, these gentle- 
men who had discharged him. Gentlemen! 
Unto whom were they gentle? Unto them- 
selves? To their women-folk? Surely not 
to him. They laughed and jested. ‘Their 
well-fed bodies, contented faces, and fine 
clothes were the very epecuee of all that 
fell to him. 

In a few days he would again be a weary, 
homeless wanderer in search of work. 
These men were to blame for that. They 
were going to the monthly meeting in the 
- small building to the right of the engine- 
house. The eyes of the Russian followed 
them with a baleful malignancy and he 
clenched his hands. 

“They fear nothing but force,” he mut- 
tered to himself. ‘‘ They are armored with 
gold against the law, but force they fear.” 

At noon Korinski wandered, aimlessly 
about the sunny yard. Then passed by the 
foot of the tall chimney. About half of the 
base was cut away, but the enormous 
weight of the overhang ‘was sustained by 
powerful steel jack-screws set some distance 
apart. The chimney stood like some tree 
into which the ax had cut half-way. 

Steel cables lay along the ground, halif- 
buried beneath broken brick, earth, and mor- 
tar. They had been used for bracing the 
chimney before the screws were put in place. 

All this Korinski observed mechanically. 
His mind was brooding darkly upon his 
wrongs and his revenge. 

Passing by the rear of the building where 
the directors were assembled, he glanced up 
at the wirdows of the committee-room. High 
above the roof he saw the mighty shaft of 
the chimney soaring into the air. Its shadow 
had moved far since that morning and now 
fell across the low building before him. The 
stack, the offices, and the engine-room formed 
the points of an equilateral triangle, 

Korinski seemed. seized with a sudden in- 
spiration. A satanic smile spread. over hi 
dark visage, an evil joy shone in his eyes. 
He strode back into the yard, and with de- 
Ebenate steps he measured off the distance 


_ smoke. 


-me on! 


53 


between the offices and the base of the chim- 
ney. 

“One hundred and ninety-seven feet,” he 
said in a whisper. ‘““How high is the 
stack?” he inquired casually of a mason, 
eating his lunch in the shade. 

“She was two hundred and thirty feet 
when we built her five years ago,” answered 
the man, “and I’m not thinking she’s shrunk 
any since. She’s the highest in the whole 
State. We that built her call her ~ Big 
Moll.” = 

“TI call it Moloch—a monster!” burst — 
forth the Russian passionately. “You — 
we are the slaves they fling and feed to it. 
We are the fuel—fools that—” 

The man stared. Korinski checked ges 
self and resumed in.a milder tone: 

“Two hundred and thirty feet, Its a 
very high stack. Thetallest Iyever saw be- 
fore was at Odessa. That wis only sixty — 
meters. Those screws look rather light— 
for all’ that weight,” he added, pointing to 
the two jacks. “ What if they should give 
way?” 

E Oh, they’re chilled steel,” replied the 
mason, “and they’ Il carry a thousand ten to 
the square inch.” 

“But if they should give way?” 
Korinski. 

“Well, if this one, to the right. here; 
broke, over Big Moll would go right onto 
that little building yonder. If-that one to 
the left broke the engine-house would be 
smashed flatter’n sheet iron.’ 

The man spoke the truth, as Korinski knew, 
when he had studied €very detail of the con- 
struction and the method of support. That 
night he was to be on duty alone in the 
engine-room. That night, likewise, an ex- 
tra meeting was to be held by the directors 
—no doubt to discharge other employees or 
to cut down, in their remorseless-way, the 
wretched wages they were paying the men. .~ 

But now he held them in his hands. Their 
lives and their destinies were subject unto 
him. A sense of majestic power possessed 
him. His little frame seemed to expand with 
the thought of his sito his vindication, 
and his revenge. 

That afternoon Korinski was off duty. He 
climbed a neighboring hill from which he 
could see the various buildings of the steel 
works spread out below him. Only the 
shaft of the great stack rose higher than 
the hill, pouring forth its dense volumes of 
They rolled away across the blue 
heavens and wove long” drifting shadows 
over the landscape. 

“It’s a cloud of smoke by day,” murmured 
the anarchist, “a pillar of fire by-night to lead 
It is the monument of my revenge. 
Who of all the brotherhood will ever have 


: 


yr 


asked 


2 : = 








eer struck a blow like this? The dolts must 
ee learn that brains and not bombs and blud- 
geons count in our noble work!” 
-— He shook his fist toward the pretty lit- 
tle building where the directors met. He 
_ saw the roof of his own comfortable engine- 
room, and recalled that in a few days it 
would. shelter him no more. Well, much 
might” happen in a week, in a day, in an 
= hots! 
ee That evening at six he must be at his post 
_ again. Mallon, the chief engineer, had his 
night off. 2 
All the afternoon he sat on the grass-cov- 
ered. ‘hill, his legs doubled under his chin, 
his eyes fixed | upon the buildings below. 
‘There he crouched like some deformed gar- 
— goyle or like an eagle euztcising his prey 
from some mountain scarp. 
E= Evening came, and then the early autumn 
Erect ok ‘night. He saw the doors of the monster 
iS furnaces: open and shut while sudden bursts 
_ of ruddy splendor were flung across the open 
spaces. The windows of the buildings 
- glowed at times like crimson coals, then 
sank into instant night, leaving vague blots 
=> floating before his eyes. The steam from 
: the exhaust-pipes ascended in beautiful 
E snowy forms like huge white flowers bloom- 
oe ing in the night. 
ee He saw the workers—contented slaves— 
“come and go—dark shapes flitting hither 
and thither. Stalwart men they were, yet to 
him with his knowledge, but feeble babes. 
; The great steel works with their muffled 
; hum and roar and clangor, lifted up a stir- 
ring hymn of incessant toil to the brooding 
heavens. To what end was all that toil? 
Here, as elsewhere, cannons were being cast 
and armor forged for battle-ships, machines 
of murder to wreak havoc among innocent 
men at the behest of their rulers. 
He raised his eyes. The tapering mass 
of the chimney stood out, a softened shadow, 
- against the nightly blue. A large star glit- 
tered like a gem directly above it. 
“Tt is a good omen,” said Korinski. 
‘The smoke, as it poured rapidly 
away into the farther darkness toward the 
hills, ow and again blotted out the star, 
but always it emerged again, pure and bril- 
liant.. It returned to Korinski’s eyes like the 
symbol of a resolve that must not flag. 
Now a burst of flame issued from a steel 
flue over the buildings that contained the 
blast furnaces. Grandly it flickered upward 
like some enormous torch t until the red brick 
‘of the smoke-stack glowed in the bath of 
crimson light, like a shaft of red-hot iron 
5 “soaring into the startled night. The smoke 
from its wide throat took on a tinge of 
crimson-orange in exquisite contrast to the 
deep-blue firmament, : 




















= 


THE LIVE WIRE. aS 


The soul of the Slav was not insensible to” 
the grandeur of the scene. For a time he 
seemed plunged i in dreams, perhaps in doubt, 
then— 

“That is my pillar of fire by night,” he 
murmured. 

A church-bell from the adjacent village 
struck. It was a quarter before six. 

Korinski slowly descended the hill. Once 
more he passed by the base of the stupen- 
dous stack. The masons had left it some 
time before; the yard was deserted. : 

He walked quickly to the opening in the 
base. The two steel jack-screws stood plain- 
ly forth. Seizing the heavy hook that was 
fixed to the end of one of the steel cables, 
he placed it about the neck of the screw to 
the right. It hung there loosely and inse- 
curely, and Korinski propped a loop of the 
cable between two bricks, in order to support 
the hook. The cable extended to within 
thirty feet of the engine-room, and its end 
terminated in another hook. 

The misshapen figure disappeared into the 
brightly lighted engine-room. A few minutes 
later a tall man came forth. - It was Mallon, 
the chief engineer, bound for home. 

Korinski sat in his chair beneath an elec- 
tric lamp, his eyes upon the gleaming ma- 
chinery, silent and resistless in its working. 
The ponderous fly-wheels whirled in their 
circles; the great piston and connecting-rods 
reached out like mighty arms, and then 
drew back along their noiseless guides. Close 
by the door stood an auxiliary engine, used 
for dragging heavy castings or machinery 
about the yard or for hoisting purposes. A 
coil of steel rope was wound around a drum 
connected with it. 

It was now half past six. At seven little 
Fanny Hillers, the nine-year-old daughter 
of his landlady, would bring Korinski his 
supper. All the affection’ that unrequited 
love, suffering, persecution, and ingratitude 
had not driven out of the heart of the ill- 
favored Russian refugee had gone forth in 
a fatherly tenderness to little Fanny. 

Such a child, he often thought, might once 
have been his—if only Natalia—but no, his 
love had now been consecrated to the great 
cause, the catise that was mother, wife, and - 
daughter to him. But his comrades were his 
brothers, and they were right. Deeds, deeds, 
deeds must be their children. To-night his 
brain should bring a child into the world, a 
child whose birth-cry should make all man- 
kind thrill—some with terror and some 
with joy. : 

The hands of the ince crept lows on 

oS seyen. Almost on the stroke of the 
our little Fanny Hillers appeared with her | 
basket. 


“Were is your supper, Korie,” ‘she said. | 








ii 


A PARTY OF SOME SEVEN MEN CROSSED THE YARD 
WITHOUT. THEY WORE FROCK COATS AND SILK 
HATS. “THE DIRECTORS,” MUTTERED KORINSKI. 


“T told mama you liked those apple-tarts 

so much. See, I brought you—one—two— 

three of them, and they are nice and warm, 
_ Korrie.” 

Korrie was her childish version of Korin- 
ski, When it fell from her lips the name 
- * seemed full of an infinite sweetness to him. 

; “You're a dear little girl, Fanny,” he 
said with a smile. “ You're a darling.” 

He placed his hand on her head, stroking 
the curls that welled forth from beneath her 
bonnet. Even so, he mused, Natalia’s child 
mtust be—Natalia, the playmate of his in- 
fancy, she who was married in distant Lo- 
ginova long ago. Perhaps she was dead 

— now; perhaps she had forgotten him, but he 
Fe ~=he had not forgoften! 


he girl had set his supper on a wooden — 
‘bench, and stood ready to depart with her 


basket. : 
“Good night, Korrié: 
=~ home so late to-night.” 
_. stone step that led to the yard. 
es Fanny,” called Korinski; a ‘Fanny, come 
— : ; Fi : 


You mustn't come 





Her foot was on the 
eS disturbed some arrangement of this steel 





The girl turned and approached him, He — 


placed his arm about her, and lowered 


his swarthy features toward the pure, rose- 


leaf face of the little maid. His eyes looked 
into her own with a profound, compelling 
pathos. His voice shook. 
“Will Fanny give Korrie a kiss?” 
“Course I will,” said Fanny, and kissed — 
him on the cheek. 


“Thank you, Fanny,” said the anarchist. = 
His’ eyes, dimmed with a _ 
mist, saw her bright face vanish through the 


“Good night.” 


door. 

Fanny ran lightly across the yard, passing 
by the base of the big chimney, as she had 
done when she came. Something caught her 
foot; she tripped and fell, with a clatter and 
a ringing of metal about her. She scrambled — 
to her feet and looked about her. She had 
fallen over a loop of cable that day in her 
path. t 

~The child qelnet: that by her fall. she iar 


The hook now lying at her feet had 
With ~ 


~ rope. 
Bes anaes to one of the screws. 

















56 


her tiny hands she lifted the massive ring 
and placed it in position. Then, half fright- 
ened at what she had done, she ran swiftly 
home. 

- At half-past eight, by the engine-room 
clock, Korinski sat still and silent as a 


sphinx. The night meeting of the directors 
What evil were these 


was now taking place. 







ALL THE AFTERNOON HE SAT ON THE GRASS- 
COVERED HILL, HIS LEGS DOUBLED UNDER 
HIS CHIN, HIS EYES FIXED UPON - 
THE BUILDINGS BELOW. 


lords of gold and greed plotting-and planning __ 


against the slaves who, like him, toiled and 
sweated for them? ‘These tireless monsters 
of steel and steam toiled for them too. 

Korinski rose. Slowly he started the aux- 
iliary engine, and the cable began to unwind 
from the drum. Taking the end in his hands, 
the anarchist passed through the door into 
the yard. Almost instantly he returned and 
stopped the engine. From without he heard 
the voices of the directors on their way to 
the meeting. 

The seal of a deep purpose was stamped 
upon his face; excitement and exuliation 
sparkled in his eyes. Pantiig from his ex- 
értions, he sat down and wiped his brow. 


spe 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


“At nine,” he whispered to himself; “ 
little after nine!” 

The hands of the clock crept inexorably 
on. At ten minutes past the hour Korinski 
leaped to his feet, rushed to the lever of the 
engine and pulled it deliberately toward him. 
The snake-like loops straightened and stiff- 
ened and wound themselves about the iron 





Ee PT 







Ha 
an 2 NWO Hy 
be Jal areas Zp UO W 20 Owm y 
“ailuanng zyou0 EIN 
rT _2P "89am wy tH 
> pas 


a 
Mie. 


» 
reel until the slack was all drawn in. Then 


the powerful cable stretched, quivered, and 
strained. 


A weary workman in the foundry, snatch- 
ing a brief rest, was: gazing through the 
windows of the casting-room at the great 
smoke-stack and the star-studded sky be- 
yond. Suddenly it seemed fo him as if the 
sky began to rock and tremble. Some of the 
stars vanished behind the shadowy bulk of 


ee 


: quest,” 





= 


the chimney; others emerged, and again dis- 
appeared. 
Then, in a flash, the illusion passed away. 


~The chimney, and not the sky, was moving. 


Its outlines, as it swayed to right and left, 
hid or disclosed the stars. He saw it reel 
and dance like a drunken thing. Then the 
lofty, shadowy column plunged forward and 
rushed downward into the night. 

The simple workman could not believe his 
senses; he thought he had gone mad. He gave 
a loud yell, and rushed from the window. 
Henry Latrobe, the 


“Gentlemen,” said 


-chairman of the meeting in the offices of the 


Cyclops Steel Works, “among a few minor 
details that require our attention is the dis- 
missal of one Dmitri Korinski, assistant to 
Engineer Mallon. Mallon says he needs the 


man, and has asked us to retain him.” 


ad: move that we agree to Mallon’s re- 
said one of the directors. 

“Tt is moved—” = 

There was a detenthg crash, a stunning 
and appalling uproar, like thunder ten times 
multiplied. A violent shock as of an earth- 
quake made the building creak and tremble. 
The men leaped to their feet, their faces full 
of wild alarm and fear. Only Henry La- 


trobe remained calm, self-possessed. 


“IN THE PATH OF THE AVENGER. 





“Gentlemen,” he said, “there has been : an 


explosion. 
giant, lay prostrate on the ground. 
broken into many sections that rested intact 
amid the gloomy wreck. 


smoke poured out over the ruins. 


We had better investigate.” = 
The stupendous chimney, like a vanquished 
It-was — 


From the -flue-— 
opening in the ragged base clouds of black a 


The engine-house was a mass of wreckage, — 


shattered walls and 
The hissing of steam was heard, and its 
white clouds rolled slowly upward like the 
breath of some expiring animal. 
of the chimney had crushed through the 
building as if it had been of pasteboard. 
Scores of men, like active ants, swarmed 
over the wreck. 

“Who was in the engine-house?” asked 
Latrobe of a mechanic. : 

< ‘(Only that Russian assistant of Mallon’ s, 
sir,’ replied the man. 


‘The see 


shivered machinery. — 





The troubled look that had settled ‘upon — 


the features of Latrobe passed away. 
“Gentlemen,” he said solemnly, “a human 
life has been lost. In comparison with that — 
our own loss is as nothing.” 
Then, glancing at the papers he still car- 
ried in his hand, he said in a low fONE as if 
to himself: 2 


“Dmitri Korinski has his final discharge.” =a 


WHY Pee TRY A GIFT CIGAR? 





“WHIT WAY HAE YE GI'EN OWER SMOKIN’, DoNAL’?” ees 
“WHEL, IT’S NO SICH A PLEESURE AFTER A’, FOR YE KEN s BUDDY'S AIN TEBACCY costs OWER — 


MUCKLE ; AND IF YE'RE SMOKIN’ -ANITHER B BUDDY'S, YE HAR TO RAM YER PIPB 


praw.”—London Sketch. 


SAE TIGHT IT ’LL NO | 


Doth 


‘ 











=F 


See en a ae oS 





SEARS = 
a 







SURE! TAKE IT EASY. THIS CANT LAST. — 












SSX 
rN CAE SARE SNS 


; 
———s« * &&XCUSE ME, BUT ARE YOU THE GENTLEMAN WHO WAS TO WAIT HERE FOR MISS EULALIE MULLER?” 


“yrs, I AM THE ONE.” ; 
“WELL, PLEASE BE PATIENT A LITTLE WHILE LONGER. AS SOON AS IT STOPS RAINING, THE YOUNG 


_ LADY WILL BE HERE.”—Fliegende Blatter. 








“Tr IS AWFUL, DOCTOR, THE WAY MY HEAD BUZZES." 
DON’T HEAR ANYTHING."—Lustige Blatter. 


58 


“-- * aM—aM—BUT [| 








e 









Che Comedie Humaivic 





‘Third Avenue, op- 


private — office, 


began the major. 


= ministration 


~ “Look 
exclaimed, 


says you 





RECRUITING STATION 





BY GILSON WILLETS. 


HEY were at the principal army re- 
cruiting-station in New York, at the 
head of the Bowery. Specifically, 

they wete at No. 25 ee 


your enlistment. 


posite Astor Place. 
At the moment the 
major in charge 
with an enlistment 
paper in his hand 
was “swearing in” 
a recruit. The re- 
cruit stood by the 
old-fashioned fire- 
place in the-major’s 
with 
his right hand held 
high in the air in 
trie: “Eswear’”’ 
fashion. 

“Do you swear—” 


But he went no fur- 
ther with the ad- 
of the 
Instead, 
here!” he 
SPR 
paper — 
have a- 
long scar on the 
calf of your left 
leg, as if some one 


oath. 


enlistment. 





“ MEANTIME, YOUR MOTHER'S HEART WILL ‘KNOW 
_NO HAPPINESS, HER HEARTH NO PEACE. ARE 
“You PREPARED FOR ALL THIS, AND wan? 2 


59 





had tried to mow you down with a scythe, 
You may drop your hand. 


meantime, Come 
back in three days.” 
At this the cectuit: 
looked not so much 
surprised as crest- 
fallen and worried. 
Saying 


recruiting-station. 
What had caused 
the major to inter- 
rupt that man’s 
oath? 


dier having that 


kind of a scar on 


his leg. That  sol- 
dier, the major dim- 
ly remembered, was 
wanted as a de+ 
serter. Second, the 


recruit, as he stood 
forth and held up 
his hand to swear 
in, had that in his. 
erect bearing — which: 
- caused the major to — 
think “old” 80 edhe: 








I'll postpone ~ 
Go where you please — 


nothing, — 
however, he left the | 


First, he be-~ 
lieved he had read 
or heard of a sol- 


x 








ment. 


ra 





Loic it is hat more deserters. are caught in 
rec “witing - offices than anywhere else— 





caught trying to reenlist under assumed 


_ tiames. = 

The recruit now under consideration went 
‘away, as said, without a word, giving no 
: thought, as was afterward learned, to the 
matter of the scar. How was he to know 
that charts were kept in the War Depart- 
ment at Washington of all the body-marks 


ot found | on each enlisted man? 


A Search. for a Deserter. 


That very day the major wrote a letter 
to Washington describing the scar that 
seemed to be the result of a cut by a scythe. 

That same night half a dozen squads of 
armed soldiers in uniform—members of the 
Eighth Infantry stationed at Governor’s Is- 
-Jand, New York Harbor—created attention, 


not to. say excitement, in the Bowery. They 


‘made the rounds of the resorts in search of 
‘a soldier named Oliver Farmer, who had 
escaped from Castle Williams, the military 
prison at Governor’s Island, where he had 


been confined for desertion. 


At the very moment the armed squads 
were combing the Bowery in their quest for 
- the deserter, the man whose enlistment had 
that day been checked while taking the oath 
*; entered the reeruiting-station at the head of 

the Bowery. 

“The major said I could g0 where I 
chose,” said the would-be recruit to the ser- 
geant, who sat by the stove reading. “ Well, 
I chose to come in here for the evening. 

-~Do you mind?” 

-—Not at all,” replied the polite sergeant. 
“Wear the boys from Governor’s are down 
street hunting for that escaped prisoner 
and deserter, Farmer.” 

“Yes, oh, yes,” said the visitor. “Say, by 
the way, would they ever think of looking 
for a deserter in a recruiting-station? ” 

But before the sergeant could answer, 
the door opened and in-came a man wearing 
the uniform of the Salvation Army. 
~ “Ym on the Farmer case,” said the new- 
comer. “Got to make a quick change to a 
Chinatown guide,” he added, “and—” But 
just there he quit talking and scrutinized 
closely the face of the applicant for enlist- 

Then he disappeared into an adjoin- . 
ing room. — 
hat’s a Salvationist after a soldier 


se fare » asked the near-recritit. 


S That -ain’t no Salvationer—that’s a de-. 
tective,” replied the sergeant. “His spe- 
cialty is nabbing deserters and getting the 


regulation ten ‘dollars’ reward in each case. 


There’s men like him all over thé country 
known to soldiers as “hounds ' =e ue 
_serters for hares.” xs : Jia 


ma 





THE LIVE “WIRE, SS 


a Well, say,” 


catch Farmer.” 
No sooner had the applicant disappeared 


than the detective, still dressed as a mem-— 


ber of the Salvation Army, reappeared. 
“You let that man get away?” he cried 
in dismay. “I only stepped into the next 
room to hunt for handcuffs. That friend of 
yours was the chap we're after, or I don’t 
know my business. That was Farmer.” ~ 


He rushed down-stairs and into the street, — 


the sergeant after him. But Farmer, if, in- 
deed, it was he, had vanished into the great 
maw of the Bowery. 

Next day, surely enough, came a telegram 
to the major from the War Department at 
Washington, reading: “Identification of 
man with scar on left leg unmistakable. 
Wanted for desertion. Arrest him.” 

But it was too late. Not even the detec- 
tive who sought the ten-dollar reward suc> 
ceeded in finding Oliver Farmer. 

Such is one chapter in the comédie hu- 
maine of the recruiting-stations. Here’s 
another: 

One night at the Third Avenue station 
loomed up a young, smooth-faced, exceed- 
ing good-looking person in the uniform of 
a United States jackie. 

“T must get out of this rig and back into 
that of a messenger-boy,” said the “ person” 
to a sergeant and a corporal who were 
playing checkers. “I’ve got that deserger, 
Frank Burns, bottled up in a flat on Thirty- 
Seventh Street, and it looks like a lalling 
to-night sure.’ 

So saying, the person dressed as a blue- 
jacket hastened to another part of the build- 
ing. 

Lured to Jail by a Pretty Face. 


“She’s a honey-cooler, ain’t she?” re- 
marked the corporal, 
which he had ceased smoking when the 
“sailor” entered. 

“A tu-lu,” agreed the sergeant. 
say she’s the crackest detective of the whole 
War Department—leastwise, crackest where 
deserters are concerned. They say it is by 


disguising herself as a sailor or a messen= 


ger-boy or such-like that she gets safely in 


and out of places where petticoats would 


attract attention.” 


The woman detective pee towas Miss — 
Edith King, who for several years follow- — 
ing the Spanish-American War was em-_ 


ployed by a New York detective agency. to 


run down: deserters—the only woman in the — 
country doing that kind of work. In seven ~~ 
years she captured a number of deserters ~ 


sufficient to recruit three entire regiments. 


upspoke the applicant, mov- : 
ing quickly toward the door, “I guess TH 
be going down street to help those soldiers — 


relighting- the pipe 


“ They 











_ Some time after her appearance at the 
~ recruiting-station dressed as a sailor, Miss 
King reappeared—on the lookout for de- 
serters among the applicants for enlistment 
—dressed this time stunningly in gay frock 
and fluffy millinery, the pretty things that 








== 


-RECRUITING-STATION STORIES. S2 ol 


was sure he held the best hand, and asked 
me please to let him play the hand out. My 
boss acqttiesced. 

“The hand was played out, Burns won 
ten dollars and, with that money in his 


clothes, ‘went smilinety. with us to the navy- — 























soldiers and sailors “dote on.” Thus at- 
tired, she could get recruits to talk and 
even induce old soldiers to give information 
about deserters. 

“Got Frank Burns in the flat while he 
was. playing poker with some pretty tough 
“cronies,” she said. “My boss entered the 
‘room, and in Wild West style ordered, 
‘Hands up!? ~ 
= “Up went seven pairs of hands, eck 
holding five cards. Burns beckoned me to 
come close, and in a low voice told me he 


ae 





MISS EDITH KING IN SEVEN YEARS CAPTURED 
ENOUGH DESERTERS TO RECRUIT THREE 
ENTIRE REGIMENTS, 


yard prison, where he knew he would have 
to remain ‘many a month. = 
Thus ends the second chapter. Now for 
further chapters, each telling of a separate 
episode 
places where placards outside announce: 
“Recruits wanted” for the United States 
army and navy—interesting service in the 
Philippines, . trip around the world, ” “ete. 
The scene this time is the army, ‘recruiting- 


station at Milk Street, Boston. Outside, on — 
a billboard, is a gorgeous lithograph show-. 


in the condédie Jemainé ‘of the 


sie a 








= 62 eee = oe THE 


- shelter, 


= 





© 


— “WHATS THIS MEAN?” INQUIRED THE CAPTAIN. EVEN AS HE 
ASKED THE QUESTION THE CAPTAIN NOTICED THIS PHENOM- 

iz ENON—THAT THE FACES OF ALL THOSE MEN 

a= SHOWED TRACES OF WEEPING. 


ing pictures of soldiers in fashion-plate 
uniforms. To the old soldiers on duty at 


the station that lithograph is to laugh. 


One day at that Boston station a young 
man, little more than a boy, who gave the 
name of Dunham, applied for enlistment. 
He passed the physical and mental exam- 
jnation—good eyesight, excellent hearing, 
sound teeth, and all—and finally was ush- 


- ered into the presence of Captain Mfiler to 


take the oath. 

Captain Miller looked the youngster up 
and down, then walked around him, survey- 
ing him much as a competent buyer would 
inspect a thoroughbred before closing a 
horse-deal. 

“Dunham, let’s feel your hands,” snapped 
the captain. “Soft, eh! Never done man- 


ual labor. Whites of eyes very clear, too. 
Don’t drink. Got any money in your 
pocket?” 

~— “No, sir. Broke.” 


“Thought so. That's the reason you are 
enlisting. You think to get a bed, food, 
and an ease-off on the worry. 
That’s what brings many here—dead-broke- 


mess. and the chance to get in out of a cold 


world. Mother living, Dunham?” _ 
“Yes, sit. -But—" 
“No ‘buts,’ Dunham, — 





‘I know the old 


FAVES WIRE es 


story. You're a prodigal. You ran away 
from home. Your sort has been here be- 
fore, There’s a fatted calf awaiting you 
somewhere. Now, I’m going to give you a 
last chance to go back home. Do you un- 
derstand what'll happen to you the moment 
I swear you in?” 

“Yes, sir, Thirteen dollars a month and 
found for three years.” : 
“Exactly, but not all. You'll get forty- 
three cents a day, three dollars a week— 
for a seven-day week. That’s less than a 
street-cleaner earns, less than is paid a com-~ 
mon laborer. Your hours will be from five- 
thirty in the morning to nine-thirty at night, 


including Sunday. You'll be at some one’s 


beck and call day and night. You will fol- — 
low an officer around like a footman. You'll 
be the man behind the pick and shovel, and 
youll dig water-drains. You'll be shut. off 
from: the society of women. You'll ‘know 
_no more the refinements to which I believe 
you have been accustomed, Meantime, your 
mother’s heart will know no happiness, her 
hearth no peace. Are you Prepared for all 
this, and more?” : 

Tears dimmed the youngster’s eves, ay e 
jurned and walked” to the door—while the 
captain slowly tore the enlistment document 
of one Dunham into a narrow strips. 








_ tain. 


x Mr. 


RECRUITING-STATION STORIES. 6B 


The captain dropped the long, narrow 
‘strips into his waste-basket; then he crossed 
the room and held out his hand to the 
“ prodigal.” Grasping the outstretched 
hand, the boy, from his tear-dimmed eyes, 
telegraphed these words which he could not 
utter otherwise: “Thank you, captain. I 
owe you much.” 

Tears were once shed at a recruiting-sta- 
tion for reasons the reverse of those that 
occasioned the Boston youth to weep. This 
happened at the station at Plattsburg, New 
York, in April, 1808, at the beginning of the 
Spanish War. 

That day forty applicants for enlistment 
came to the station. Thirty-one were re- 
jected—“ defective vision,” or “not enough 
teeth,” or “only nine toes,” and so on. 

The rejected ones hung around the sta- 
tion for a while, then drifted away one by 
one till only half a dozen were left. 

The six, representing the remnant of the 
disappointed thirty-one, lined up in front 
of the station, and when Captain Powell, 
the recruiting-officer, came out, they put 
their hands to their derbies and fedoras, 
imitating the military salute. 

“What's this mean?” inquired the cap- 
Even as he asked the question the 
captain noticed this phenomenon—that the 
faces of all those men showed traces of 
weeping. He understood, he appreciated 
this sign of bitter disappointment in men 
who believed themselves to be patriots; yet 
he turned to walk away. ‘What else could 
he do? 

The six men wouldn’t let him walk away, 
however—not till they had gathered round 
him, some of them with tears coursing 


_ down their faces as one said: 


“Captain, if you can’t take us down to 
Cuba as soldiers, won’t you please take us 


along just to end stock and shoot Span- : 


jards?” 
Now, as’ the captain extricated himself 


from these patriots and fled down street, the -_ 
six men noted that the officer brushed a— 


little something from his own eye. 
it was street-dust; maybe it wasn’t. 
know. 

Continuing and concluding these ae 
in the comédie humaine of the recruiting- 
places—all ye ~vho in the love of the flag 
are indignant when a soldier is turned away 
from a theater because of his uniform, read 
this: 

One day to an army recruiting-station in 


Maybe 
I don’t 


Chicago came an applicant of about thirty 


winters. “I’m no recruit,” he said to the 
officer in charge. “I come to reenlist.” 

“That's refreshing,’ replied the ee 
ing-oficer. “We're more acctistomed — 
hear of deserters rather than of recnlist. 
ments.” 


“Oh, I’m not going back because I prefer : 


army life.” 

“Then why on earth don’t you stay out > 
We don’t want to enlist men who are dis- 
satisfied even before they get the uniform.” 

“Can’t stay out. Thought I could do bet- 
ter in civil life. But I can’t.” ‘ 

“Guess you have not tried very hard, if 
you can’t do better than thirteen dollars a 
month.” 


“But I have 'tried—asked for employment \— 


at no end of shops, offices, mills, and stores 
right here in Chicago. But everywhere I 
got cold-shouldered. When employers asked 
about my last job and I said ‘army,’ they 
would invariably reply: 
“*Old soldier, hey! 
use for ex-soldiers. You couldn’t have been 
good for anything, else you’d never have 
gone into the United States army.’” 





GATES LOSES MONEY; BELL-BOYS GET IT. 


OHN W. GATES has sworn off tipping 
hotel employees. He has been in the 
habit of giving twenty-five cents for each 
letter or telegram when delivered to his 
room or in any part of the hotel by a bell- 
boy. So the boys have been delivering the 
missives one, at a time and collecting a 
quarter for each, even if half a dozen came 
to the hotel at once. 
_ The other day Mr. Gates had an unusual _ 
number of telegrams. It so happened that 
‘one arriving at five minutes to twelve o’clock 
did not reach him until five minutes after 
one. It was dated at noon. - 


‘started an investigation. 


Then he discov- 
S25 WV = 


Gates was just a bit provoked and — 


ered that his letters and telegrams always 
arrived one at a time. 

“Guess that is going some,” said Mr. 
Gates—* going fast enough, anyway, to keep 
me from giving any more tips in a hotel. I 
am on record now.” f 

“ Chee! ! ” 
heard that the great iron and steel magnate 
had taken offense. Bf dis ain’t de limit, den 
I don’t know what is. How’s a man goin’ 
to support his fambly if all dis honest graft 
is cut off? Take it from me, cull, dat de 
tip is here to stay. Anybody who gies to. 
cut it off will wake up some morning wid a 
hole ,cut in his best satchel. Dat’s a certain 
sure os fee ; 


’ 





Well, we've got no — 


said a “bell-hop” when he 


rz 





























i B « 
Pe eee a 
‘e ow) gE 
6B 
O : 
Pi ah Ly 
i) 6 z 4 / 
cea tae 
ey 
oe cf 
{ Nin] bead 
D) a 
< ie 
im 9 S| i 
fe 28 
G@ (Be. 
| es 
oo és 
AN Ce ACh i: a 
f ") ws vary ie] 3 
; ‘ e 
2 ‘ iS val) ; 








“ ND to my devoted servant, Eliza 
Maud Higgins, who for nine 
years has served me faithfully 
and well and been as close as a 

daughter to me, I will and bequeath the sum 

of two hundred pounds sterling, together 
with my blue silk dress and muskrat muff, 
to be hers and her heirs forever.” 

So ran the all-important clause in Mrs. 
Scadpump’s will—and that was how the 
trouble began. 

Up to that period Eliza had been noted as 
the neatest, prettiest, best-mannered young 
woman in domestic service in the whole of 
Little Niggleby Square. As all four sides 
of Little Niggleby Square were lined with 
furnished apartment-houses, with a slight 
sprinkling of domiciles devoted to providing 
board as well as lodging for American visi- 
tors in London, the neighborhood’s supply 
of “young women in service” was by no 
means niggardly. 

Eliza’s popularity was not entirely born of 
her legacy—though, of course, it went up by 
leaps and bounds after that event—for there 
was a fascinating gentleman in scarlet (com- 
ing close to the expiration of his time in the 
army and known to be thinking of “ settling 
down”) who was immensely taken with her. 
Then there was young Williams, the police- 
man; and Grigsby, the postman; and good- 


: looking, good- -tempered, enterprising Charlie’ 


Harris, the grocer’s gent, who, perhaps, en- 
joyed more favor than any of them, if 
Eliza had analyzed her feelings. 

But when Mrs. Scadpump gave up letting 


apartments in Little Niggleby Square and 


departed, leaving behind her the all-im- 
portant will, came porters and milkmen, 
market gardeners and butchers, waiters and 
- news-venders, to lay their hearts and their 
prospects at Eliza’s feet, with the result 


65 


that, before she could pack up her belong- 


ings and get away from the neighborhood, 
her two hundred pounds had been proposed 
to exactly eight times, and there were sev- 
eral ardent annexationists still to be heard 
from. 

“Get along with you, do!” was Eliza’s 
invariable reply. “I ain’t no intention of 
marrying—at least, not yet awhile. I’ve 
worked hard ever since I was big enough 
to scrub a door-step, and now I’m going to 
see a bit of life before I takes it on again, 
I can tell you.” 3 

“There’s nobody could show you more 
life than I could, ’Liza,” said the gentleman 
in scarlet, as he squared his shoulders and 
smoothed the pointed ends of his carefully 
waxed mustache. “I’ve seen a tidy bit of 
it in my time, I have. 

“You know what advantages us* army 
gents has in a social way. Look at my 
colonel. A duke’s son, he is. You can’t get- 
much more in the way of high life than 
that, can you now? And there’s my cap- 
tain—going to marry an earl’s daughter next 


Wednesday fortnight. Come, now, wot’s 
wrong with our hitching, eh?” 
“T don’t know,” said Eliza. “Only you 


ain’t none of you a going to hitch to me. 
I’ve got trouble enough to hold my own 
horses without having any more tied to me, 
I can tell you that. Good afternoon, Mr. 
Gubby. I ain’t got no more time to waste.” 

“But I have, *Liza!” replied Mr. Gubby 
soulfully. “And I'll go on a wasting of it 
till I wins you round. Persistent assault has 
took many a fortress that seemed hopeless 
at first, and I’m a persister of vag most per- 


‘sistin’ kind. ie 


And so, indeed, he eyed to “be for he 


paid such assiduous court to Eliza, dogged 


her footsteps so constantly, brought her so | 


66 


many penny bunches of violcts, and bottles 
of scent, and paper bags of sweets, and was 
altogether so devoted in his attentions that 
Charlie Harris, who knew the powerful at- 
traction of a red coat, began to fear that 
Eliza might, in time, be won over. 

Harris had been in love with Eliza for 
yeats—disinterestedly in love—so that the 
matter of her inheritance didn’t count for 
much, only that it would come in handy in 
the matter of setting up for himself in a 
small way. He had long been saving up 
with the idea of taking a certain little place 
he knew of, where the good-will and fixtures 
could be had for a matter of ninety pounds, 
and where a -popular young grocer with a 
thrifty wife would be pretty sure of getting 
on well and being able to lay aside a pound 
or two for a rainy day. 

Eliza knew of the place, too. Indeed, she 
had once gone round there with him, and 
had expressed her approval of it and her 
admiration of him when he informed her 
that he already had half the purchase-money 
saved. 

It takes a bit of saving, however, to lay 
by ninety pounds out of a salary of eighteen 
shillings and sixpence a week; so the little 
place wasn’t secured at the date of Mrs. 
Scadpump’s decease. Charlie, who had not 
actually proposed to Eliza before she be- 
came an heiress, felt a little bit reluctant— 
as became a decent-minded young fellow— 
to do so immediately afterward. 

“Tt would sort of look as though it was 
the money that fetched me to time,” was 
the way he reasoned. “So I'll wait a bit 
and let her see as it ain’t. She knows I’m 
going to ask her, anyway.” 

So he went on putting it off and off, day 
after day, until, all of a ‘sudden, away went 
Eliza, and Little Niggleby Square knew her 
no more. 

“The army’s ketched her,” said ‘Williams, 
the policeman, coming upon Charlie cling- 
ing to the rails and staring forlornly down 
the areaway of the empty house which had 
once been the abode of the late Mrs. Scad- 
pump and the vanished Eliza. “Them red 
coats had ought to be forbid by law. Gov- 
ernment don’t play fair in the matter of uni- 
forms. Them spurs and that coat and hat 
done the trick, I'll lay my life. 

“Anyhow, Eliza she went away in a cab 
the day before yesterday, and that Gubby 
ain’t showed hide nor hair in these quarters 
since. I says it again, government don’t 
play fair in the matter of uniforms.” 

But if he said any more, Charlie didn’t 
wait to hear it. If Eliza had gone in a cab, 
that was clue enough. 

A hurried race to the cab-stand Zor 
which Little Niggleby Square drew its sup- 


THE LIVE WIRE. ~ < 


ply of vehicles brought to light the identical 
cab in which Eliza had journeyed—alone, as 
Charlie heard to his great relief—also the ~ 
address to which it had carried her. Within 
the hour the lost sheep was found. 

She had not gone far, only to some apart- 
ments kept by Mr. Gubby’s aunt, about a 
quarter of a mile distant. There Charlie 
found her, occupying the drawing-room 
suite and arrayed in the-blue silk of Mrs. 
Scadpump’s bequest, with a dish of almonds 
and raisins on one side of her, a box of bon- 
bons on the other, flowers everywhere, and 
a novelette in her hand. 

“Eliza, wot made you go away?” he said 
reproachfully. “Of course I knowed you’d 
have to, sooner or later, on account of the 
house being gave up, but what made you 
go without sending some word to me?” 

“T didn’t think as it made any difference,” 


said Eliza. “I didn’t think as you cared 
one way or t’other.” 
“Cared? ‘Liza, you’d ought to know that 


Pve always cared.” 

“Law, Mr. Harris!” 

“*Mr. Harris’! You ain’t went and mar- 
ried that Gubby fellow, have you? I know 
these here apartments is kept by his° aunt, 
but—oh, Eliza, you ain’t never .went and | 
chucked yourself away on a red coat and a 
pair of brass spurs, have you?” 

“No,” said Eliza, “I ain’t chucked my- 
self away on nobody, and, wot’s more, I 
ain’t a going to. But if ever I married— 
which is doubtful for some time to come— 
it will only be after I have gave the matter 
due consideration.” 

“You talk like a book, Eliza.” 

“T have been reading some,” she replied, 
waving her hand toward a pile_of novelettes 
stacked upon a table. “I never had time to 
do it before, but I have now, and they have 
gave me some idea of what life really is. 
Mr. Gubby fetched them to me, and I have 
found them particular entertaining.” 

Charlie stepped to the table and turned 
over a few of the novelettes. As he did 
so, a sudden light dawned upon him. He 
saw Mr. Gubby’s little game. 

“A Lover in Scarlet,” “The Gentleman 
Ranker,” “The .Pride of the Regiment,” 
“From Ensign to Earl,’ he read as he 
glanced over the titles. A hasty survey of 
the pages showed him a succession of pic- 
tures. in which everything in the way of 
beauty in distress, from a milkmaid to a 


- marchioness, was being succored by a sol- 


dier. 

“T suppose they all married dukes, and 
the most of the Tommies turned out to be 
lost heirs to noble houses or something of 
that sort, didn’t they?” he said, looking 
round at Eliza. ‘ 





“A goodish many of ’em,” she admitted. 
“You'd ought to read some of ’em, Charlie; 
they’re beautiful!” 

“1 expect they are,” said Charlie in reply. 
“J dare say, Eliza, you wouldn’t much fancy 
getting behind a counter or selling parsley 
and such like, nowadays, would you?” 

“No, Charlie, not till I've saw something 
more of life. There’s a girl in one of them 
there books (‘ Carried by Storm,’ it is, and a 





AN HEIRESS OF THE AREA, oT 


ae 


have showed you that the ‘men wot ee = 
best goes and sacrifices of theirselves for 


the good of the young wimmen they adores. 
“Well, I’m going to be like that, Eliza,- 


and I’m going to tell you, plain and straight-— 
forward, that I ain’t worthy of you, that 
there ain't no man I knows of wot is; and 


that, with your beauty and all that money 


Mrs. Scadpump left you, it ’ud be nothing — 
short of crime for you to chuck yourself 


“THERE'S NOBODY COULD SHOW YO'J MORE LIFE THAN I COULD, ’LIZA,” SAID THE GENTLEMAN IN 


SCARLET. 


beautiful story, too). wot never was nothing 
more than a parlor maid, anti yet she cap- 
tured the colonel of a regiment, and a earl 
he was, too. It’s wonderful.” 
“°Tain’t so wonderful as you think, when 
-you come down to it,” replied artful Charlie, 
determined to beat Mr. Gubby at his own 
game. “She was where she could meet 
gents of that kind, not in London lodgings. 
“They never comes to places like that, not 
they! If they did— But there! What's 
the use of mentioning it? A girl of your 


appearance, Eliza, and being an heiress into 


the bargain, she’d Jand a swell in less than 
no time. 

“Look here! I'm sncommon fond of you, 
Eliza—I just loves you, if you wants it 


plain—but I dare say that them there stories 


<4 


“VE SEEN A TIDY BIT OF IT IN MY TIME, I HAVE.” 


away on parties like me or that fellow, 
Gubby.” 

“Oh, Charlie, he have saw life! 
I’ve read them beautiful stories, I know 
that he have.” 

“So do I,” admitted Charlie. “But, Eliza, 
it ain’t no such life as you can see if you’ve 


_a mind to, now that you've got money. — 
Don’t breathe a word of it to nobody, but — 


to-morrow morning you settle your bill here, 


then go to the bank and draw out every 


farthing of your money—so’s there won't 
be no fear of that Gubby a tracing of you, 


you know, and spoiling of your chances by 
turning up sudden just when you don’t want 


him—and then you slip down to Margate as 
fast as the train can take you, and Dut up 


at. one of the he hotels.” 


t 


Since 


















rd! Wot for?” 
; it's what might be called your 
en opportunity, Eliza. Swells of every 
comes: there—French counts and Ger- 
1 barons and Eyetalian princes and things 
If you show your money freely 
g t_ where you can meet them, there 














~~ Eliza: “was aise as enthusiastic as Harris 
could have wished. 
Lae ain’t none too partial to them foreign 
parties,” she said dubiously. “We had a 
German gent a lodging with us at Mrs. 
“Scadpump’s once, and things he ea/—well, 
_ there! you'd never believe it!” 
Fad all sorts goes to Margate, Eliza 
ee Welsh, Yankees, Roo- 
‘shins; every kind,” pursued Charlie eager- 
ly. “So you'll have plenty to pick from, no 
fear. And as for the army—if that’s your 
_ partickler fancy—why, there’s captains and 
= ‘colonels and majors and wot not, so you 
= ~ needn't go a wasting of yourself on a com- 
mon Tommy like Gubby. Strike high, Eliza, 
ee strike high. Don’t chuck away your chances 
~ foolish.” 
Bes Eliza listened and was lost. The eager 
< - pleadings of this self-sacrificing lover, to- 
gether with the glowing picture he drew, 
were all too much for her. 











Font and twenty hours later, a cab with 

three brand-new trunks wobbling about on 

top of it drew up before the Ocean Wave 

- Hotel at Margate, and Eliza, brave in a 

ere purple plush costume and a hat full of roses 

= ~ and humming-birds, got out of it and made 

sears her way to the office, clutching with her 

= : fawn-kid gloved hands a small, brass-bound 

strong box fitted with a padlock and hasp. 

“Tf all your lets ain’t took, I’d like a first- 

class bed-sitting-room on the drawing-room 

ee floor and board for one lady,” she said. 
—. * How much will it be?” 


: “Two guineas a day and extras. When 
‘will the lady arrive?” 
ae “She has arrove. I’m her,” said Eliza 
a= ==> serenely. 
— Oh! Ah! Hum! Yes, but—” 


“T’ll take the room, since you say you've 
~ got one,” struck in Eliza, fishing out a key 
and fitting it to the padlock of the strong 
pox. “I don’t mind telling you that it’s a 

stiffish price, but if a body wants a good 

thing they has to pay for it, I reckon. 
-- Name’s Higgins—Miss Higgins—from Lon- — 
don. And, as I do: now how long I’m like — 
I reckon I'd better pay you each day 
Vv nce. ae you are, toe the first 













= a 








_THE Live-WIRE = 





fastened on the strong fo full to the very 2 
brim with sovereigns. 
“Not me!” responded Eliza, 


as she 


clamped ee the hasp and turned the key — = : 


in the padlock “It don’t go out of my 


hands for one minute, night or day, I] prom-— = 


ise you. Now have me showed to my room, 
please, and have my boxes sent up immejit, 
along of a pot of tea and two currant scones.” 

And in this manner began Eliza’s brief — 
but fateful sojourn at Margate. : 

She did not find it wildly exciting; for in~ 
spite of the fact that the hotel was pretty 
well filled with gentlemen who evidently 
represented the better classes, none of these 
evinced any ardent desire to form the ac- 
quaintance of the waiting damsel, who sat 
about at all hours of the day, with a small 
brass-bound box in her lap, and patiently 
watched the never-ending parade along the 
sea-front, and meditatively sucked pepper- 
mint-dr6éps when she wasn’t buried in the 
pages of a penny romance. 

The second week had begun, and the Au- 
gust bank holiday had come, when Eliza 
noticed bill-boards that fairly glowed with — 
freshly posted play-bills, announcing that — 
Mr. Montgomery de Varville would appear — 
for the next six nights at the opera-house,. 
supported by his select company of London 
players, in the soul-stirring dramatic gem, 
entitled, “The Honor of an Earl; or, The 
Two Lives of Philip Montressor.” 

“Well, now, ain’t that funny?” mused 
Eliza. “Why, Charlie Harris used to have 
a cousin—Jim Waters, I think his name was 
—wot acted with that gent. I wonder if 
he’s a doing of it still? I’ve ’arf a mind 
to go round to the theater and ask. I ain’t 
never seen him, but he’s Charlie’s cousin, — 
and I just would like to meet somebody that 
knows somebody wot I knows, "specially 
Charlie. I am so lonesome and sort 0” down 
in the mouth!” = 

At that particular moment came whizzing 
along, close to the curb behind her, a re-— 
splendent red motor. “Toot!” went the 
horn with such startling abruptness that 
Eliza jumped. At the same time the near~ 
wheels of the motor splashed down into a 
puddle, and up went a spurt of muddy wa- 
ter over Eliza’s purple plush. : 

She whirled round, intending to give the 
chauffeur “a piece of her mind” for his 
carelessness, when lo! the motor came to 


an abrupt stop, and out of it jumped a eller 


tleman in a shiny top hat, pearl-colored 
spats, a brocaded silk waistcoat, and quite © 


the most fetching thing in the way of pee 


snuff-colored suit Eliza had ever seen. : 
A full-blown La France rose ornamented 


otis buttonhole, many jewels flashed on the — 
Sok side of his waistcoat “as the act © 











i 


clean pocket-handkerchief 


_of her hair. 


alighting“ exposed it to view, and, in lieu of 


the ordinary necktie, he wore a narrow band 


of red ribbon, from which depended a me- 
dallion in the shape of a Maltese cross. 

“ Signorina, figure to yourself the embar- 
rassment, the distress!’ exclaimed this re- 
splendent gentleman in tones of deep con- 
trition, as he came hurrying toward Eliza. 


““T would not have this happen for the 
- world! 


It is the carelessness—the: stupidity. 
You shall permit me, signorina—si—? ” 

And then to Eliza’s fluttering delight and 
embarrassment, he whisked from his pocket 
a handkerchief that filled all the air with 
the odor of patchouli, and, sinking on one 
knee on the ufclean pavement, proceeded to 
wipe the stains from her skirt. 

“Law! You needn’t—I mean, it don’t 
matter. I’ve got more clothes, so there ain’t 
no call for you to go spoiling of your nice 
in that way,” 
stammered Eliza, blushing to the very roots 
“Please get up, do. It’s for all 
the world like Sir Walter What’s-His-Name 
and Queen Thingamy, and you’re a muddy- 
ing of them beautiful trousers something 
cruel.” 

“What shall it matter? What shall any- 
thing matter so that I preserve the honor 
of my race?” responded the gentleman 
with a flourish of the soiled handkerchief, 
which he immediately threw away. Pro- 
ducing a second, he resumed his task. 


AN HEIRESS OF THE AREA. 


“Shall it be said that~ a di Ven- 
turoli failed to do his duty by loneliness in 
distress? ‘Ah, never! 
would ring with my shame if I did.” ~~ 

“Oh, dear! Are you an Eyetalian gent—_ 
prince, I mean?” bleated the awed Eliza.” 33 

“A prince of the blood, signorina,’ he re- 
plied, rising and bowing before her. - 


Signorina, all Rome — 


“Law!” said Eliza, shaking all over with 


repressed excitement, as she looked into his 
fresh-colored, smoothly shaven face. 
never have thought it—never. That is—I 
mean to say— Well, I always thought as 
Eyetalian gentlemen was ‘dark-complected 
and wore goatees and things like that. Oh, 
dear! don’t bother about it no more.’ 


at once to wiping it away. 
ter.” = 

“ Ah, but it shall matter—it must always 
matter,” he replied gallantly. 


of the mishap, but I— 


“Td 


ie 
had discovered a spot on her sleeve and fell 
“Tet don’t mat- 


am I that shall so long hope and pray to — 


meet you and then haf to introduce myself 
by the accident like this.” 
“Law! 
You never seen me before, did you?” ~ 
“The hundred time—all the las’ week, I 
see and I follow—follow everywhere. I do 


not even know ze name, but IT gif you name 
for myself.” 
I never,” 


said Eliza. 


“Well, “To think 





Whatever are you a saying of? 


€ 


“Tt shall be 
like you grand Inglese ladies to make light s 
Ah, wretched one ~ 








ioe 
S- 





_ then to be torn asunder by duty. 
must wait, 





- “ SIGNORINA, FIGURE TO YOURSELF THE EMBAR- 
RASSMENT, THE DISTRESS !” EXCLAIMED 
THIS RESPLENDENT GENTLEMAN, 


: of your ryal ‘ighness a taking notice of a 


- body like that!” 

Before his royal highness could reply the 
voice of the chauffeur sounded. 

“Excuse me, mung prince,’ he broke in, 


~ “but if you have forgot it, your r’yal *igh- 


‘ness have an appointment with the Duke of 
Westminster and the chancellor of the ex- 
“chequer at one o’clock, and time’s a flyin’. 


--Hadn’t you and the lady better ’op in and 


let me take her back to her hotel?” 

“Ah, cruel fate!” exclaimed his royal 
highness, striking his breast. “To meet and 
But they 
they must -wait, those grand 
Tt shall not be to her hotel you shall 
To 


lords. : 
pilot the signorina and myself, Pietro. 


the arcade, my faithful one, where I may - 


“purchase a jewel for the signorina as a 
souvenir of our happy meeting. Signorina,” 
turning to Eliza, “let me escort you to the 
vehicle; and, if I may call at your hotel 


when these affairs of state have been at-_ 


tended to, give me the answer by permitting 
me one eure the gewel—a ee ‘souve- 








THE LIVE 


WIRE. 





“Well, yes, I suppose so, if you want to. 
It’s awful kind of you, I’m sure,’ stam- 
mered and blushed Eliza. Then, in a trans- 
port of delight, she laid her hand in the one 
he held out to her and suffered him to help 
her into the motor. 

“Law, it fair takes a body’s breath away, 
your r’yal ‘ighness,” she said as the car 
swung out into the roadway and chug- —~ 
chugged away in the direction of the ar- 
cade. 
abide ’em, but now—oh, it’s beautiful!” 

“Pietro,” suddenly exclaimed the prince, 
“T have remembered me of something. As 
this shall be bank holiday, it will be impos- 
sible for me to deposit to my account to-— 
day, and I have fifty thousand pounds upon 
my person. I like not to be carrying so 

much money. Return with it to my hotel — 


ae instant you have left us at the arcade, 


and see that the clerk deposit it in the safe.” 

“Wee, wee, mung prince,” replied Pietro, : 
as he took the. large, fat wallet his- royal — 
highness handed over to him. A minute 


later the motor halted petore. the entrance 
the arcade. 








“T used to wonder how people could 








said the prince, as he 


wis that stupid thing,” 
took the box from Eliza’s hand and assisted 


her to alight. “It shall be unseemly that I 
shall walk free-handed and you shall not. 
Pietro, await me at the hotel.” 

The holiday crowd filled the Arcade from 
end to end, pushing, jostling, laughing, try- 
ing penny-in-the-slot machines and shoot- 
ing-galleries,; and what not. Eliza and the 
prince forced their way into the place, go- 
ing from stall to stall in quest of jewelry. 

Just how it happened, Eliza never could 
remember. She had stopped for a moment 
to look at some flowers, to which his royal 
highness called particular attention. She 
spoke to the prince, and, receiving no reply, 
turned round and found no trace of him. 

Her first thought was that he must have 
passed on to the next stall without no- 
ticing that she wasn’t following him; so she 
elbowed her way through the crowd in that 
direction. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t at 
the next stall, either, or the next, or the 
next, or the next again. 

A sudden despair, a stidden chill, smote 
her. She gave a loud, excited cry and 
forced her way back to the entrance. 

“Gent carrying a box, mtim?” replied the 
guard there, in response to her eager in- 
quiry. “Gent as come in with you a few 
minutes ago, was it? Yes, he went out a 
“moment or so ago. The motor come back 
and he drove off Ramsgate way.” 

Eliza gave one deep cry of despair, and, 
turning, raced down the hill. 

She saw no sign of the red motor, no sign 
of his royal highness. Both had gone, and 
with them every penny she had in the world. 

A sudden thought—a fresh hope—came to 
her. Perhaps the man at the Arcade had 
made a mistake in the direction. Perhaps 
the prince had lost her in the crowd. Per- 
haps Pietro had come back for him with 
important news from the distinguished 
guests he was to entertain that day, and, 
knowing that she would be sure to go there, 
he had carried the box to her hotel. 

Inspired by that thought, she went thither 
as fast as she could cover the ground. 

No, said the clerk, in answer to her 
eager inquiry, nothing had been left there 
for her, nothing whatsoever. But there was 
a gentleman in the drawing-room who had 
been waiting for some little time. 

* JShe -ran to the drawing-room as fast as 
5 hee feet would carry her. There, in a deep, 
soft — chair beside one of the windows, 
dressed in his Sunday best and wearing a 
rose in his buttonhole, sat, not the ‘Prince 

di Venturoli, but Charlie Harris. 
“Hullo, Eliza. I am glad to see you, 
dear,” he said, gettir 
: ward her with a big, happy smile. 


aie ss 











AN HEIRESS OF THE AREA. 


longer than I have to, you know.” 








g up and coming to- 


ae yet, ie ae had the panns published a 
e Se < alre 





down with the bank Eras ae: aa 
thought I’d look you up. But what’s the 
matter, Eliza? You look fair licked.” 

“T am, Charlie, I am!” bleated Eliza, 
with a burst of despairing tears. “But I 
never was so glad to see nobody i in. my li 
as I am to see you. I’ve been tobe 
Gharliet-” 

Then she threw herself upon his shoul- : 
der and wept out the whole story. 

“ Ain’t you got Coens left, 
Nothing at all?” : 
“No, not a farthing. I ain't got money 
enough even to pay my way back to town — 

and go to work again. They took it all.” 

“Did they, Eliza? Then, now you ain’t 
got nothing, I reckon I can speak,” said — 
Charlie. “I’ve had a windfall. Party as ’m_ 
related to went and left me a tidy little bit _ 
of money, and I’m going to take that shop — : 
and start up on my own. Do you: think you 
could make me happy by marrying of me: 
Eliza? ’Cos I loves you heaps; and if you — 
could bring yourself down to serving cus-— 
tomers after all the hopes you've had—” 

“Hopes!” interrupted Eliza, with a fresh 
burst of tears. “I don’t think I never had 
no hopes, outside of you and that little 
shop, Charlie. It used to seem “eaven tome — 
once, but it seems two eavens now.” aes 

“Wot ho!” said Charlie, as he took Het} 
in his arms. “You know I. always said it 
would be ‘Wot ho!’ when the shop and the : 
home was ready, Eliza. 

“ And now, listen here, my- deit. Me ands 
you's going back to London by the evening — 
train, and just as soon as to-morrow comes — 
I’m going to make over all the money that’s 
been left me to you, Eliza. Now, then, you. 
go and pack your boxes and I’ll run over to 
the station and see about the tickets.” = 

He went, but not to see about the tickets. 
Instead, he jumped into a cab, drove round 
to the opera-house, and sent in word that — 
he wanted to see Mr. Jim Waters. ; 

“Thanky, Jim; you done the trick noble,” 
he said as that worthy appeared. “Here’s — 
the five pound I promised you and your — 
friend between you, and here’s another 
pound to pay for the hire of the motor. 
Now, where’s the box?” sass 

“Here. it is, all done up so’s she won't | 
know what it is,” returned Jim, handing him — 
over a parcel wrapped in brown paper. 
“You'll have to force the lock, I’m a think- 
ing, Charlie, ’cos she’s got the key herself. 
And I say, for goodness’. sake, old chap, get> : 
her away from Margate as soon as possible. = 
I don’t want to have to keep hidden ae; 







Eliza? ay 

















“She's going to-night, Jim. J: ain’t told 



























HYPNOTISM HAS CHANGED 
SINCE TRILBY’S TIME. 


YPNOTISM is not hypnotism any more, according to a new school of 
thinkers. Nor is woman’s intuition at all related to her mental processes. 
Hypnotism and intuition are both declared to be distinctively spiritual 
acts. Love at first sight—and instantaneous dislike, too, for that matter— 
are placed in the same class. They figure it out this way: 

Man’s spiritual nature in all respects,corresponds to his physical, in the fact- 
of the possession of a spiritual attribute for each physical quality. So, for 
instance, as each individual has a physical odor which is inhaled from his material 
body by which his dog is enabled to distinguish him from all other persons and 
to track his footsteps in the midst of a multitude, so also does there emanate 
from the spirit of each individual an aura, a spiritual odor which is peculiar, 
personal and characteristic to each. 

This scriptural aura or emanation was denominated by the ancient philos- 
ophers the “astral” or stellar light, because it was supposed to be luminous and 

visible to the spiritual sight in a corresponding relation with the sight of the 
heavenly bodies which is visible to the physical sight. . 

Thus, it appears, that there is to each individual a material body, which is 
visible and tangible to the physical senses, and at the same time every individual 
possesses a spiritual body, which is discoverable by the spiritual perceptions. — 

By these means it is taught that persons may know each other spiritually. 

= When an individual emits a spiritual odor or aura this may make an agreeable 
j impression on the spiritual perceptions of another, or the effect may be, on the 


other hand, unpleasing and repulsive. 








HYPNOTISM HAS CHANGED SINCE TRILBY’S TIME. 13s 






































; People with no actual knowledge 
of each other may be inspired with 
love or hate at the very first meeting 
because of the impressions made 
upon the spiritual perceptions. We 
call this “intuition,” or jumping at 
conclusions without the intervention 
of reason or knowledge; but it is 
really the logical results of spiritual 
recognition. : | 

Souls may thus telegraph to each 
other and exchange intelligence be- 
fore the physical senses can perform 
the function of perceptive investiga- 
tion and the reason take cognizance 
of any facts presented. If the 
Spiritual faculties be able to com- 
municate intelligence without mate- 
rial contact of persons, they have 
power to transmit information to 
the greatest distances and without 
regard to distance. 

How often,. without suggestion or 
apparent reason, people far distant 
appear suddenly in our mental pres- 
ence. The image may be of one who 
commands love and sympathy, or of 
one who only excites loathing and 

: hate. The strongest will and the 

- most intense spirituality will always 
impress weaker and inferior natures. 
Whether this power is exerted for 

_ good or evil makes no difference; _ 

the power exists. 














THE. EVOLUTION 


OF THE BATTLE- 


SHIP—FROM THE HOLLOW LOG 
TO THE DREADNOUGHT. 


BY JOHN R. SPEARS. 










PREDATORY chief of the cave- 


dwelling days, while wandering 
along a swelling stream, not far 
from his abode, chanced to see 


-a-rival chief on the farther shore. To 


swim across for a fight, with any chance of 
success, was out of the question because 
the enemy would kill him while he was:yet 
in the water; but he could, and he would, 
yell and dance and wave his big stone ax 
in defiance. 

Finally, in bravado, the chief leaped out 
on a mass of driftwood, in order to get 
somewhat nearer the enemy, and, landing 
on a log that had been partly hollowed by. 


natural decay, he found himself scooning — 
across the water, dry, erect, and ready for 


battle. 








LANDING ON A LOG THAT HAD BEEN PARTLY 
HOLLOWED BY NATURAL DECAY, HE 
‘FOUND HIMSELF SCOONING ACROSS THE 

WATER, DRY, ERECT, AND READY FOR 

BATTLE. 





That was a memorable, if unrecorded, day 
in the annals of the cave-dwellers, for on it 
navigation of the seas was begun. It is 
easy to imagine how the dugout canoe was 
developed from the partly rotten log, but 
it is important to note that navigation was 


first practised for the sake of battle. There 


was no commerce requiring water trans- 
portation in the days of the cave-dweller. 


When the savage went afloat in his newly — 
made dugout canoe in search of his enemy — 


he loaded it down to the water’s edge, and 
so found the waves lapping over the rude 
brim. Then he raised matting around the 
brim. The mat_ served to keep — out the 
water until heavier waves broke it i in, when 
the savage stiffened it with sticks placed 
vertically, fore and aft, and thus invented 

4 — * 5 x = ‘a 











Pees et 


the yertical Seeaiees in use to the present 


day. 


To place planks where the mats had been 
was the next step, when the savage -had 
learned to split the semblance of planks 
from the solid log, and thus framed ships 
were developed. 


The First Naval Battle. 


With framed ships the savage was able 
to go far out to sea and brave the winds 
that had swamped the ruder dugout, and 
then came a species of warfare that in 
modern days is called piracy. The clan 
chief not only hunted his known enemies, 
but, spurred on by what we call enterprise 
and animated by what we call the praise- 
worthy desire to increase wealth, he sailed 
forth to take what he could grasp and hold. 
The chief of a clan that had built a framed 
ship drove the dugout men out of the trade 
and worked his monopoly for all the traf- 
fic would bear. Meantime, of course, he 
admitted some of the ablest of his com- 
petitors into his crew. 

Among the plunder thus secured, slaves 
formed an important part, and with their 
labor the shipbuilding chiefs of clans in- 
creased in power and became kings. They 
added framed boat to framed boat, and so 
created fleets. 

Where the predatory chiefs had. gathered 
plunder with a single ship, the predatory 
king used fleets to compel other nations to 
pay them tribute. So fleet met fleet upon 
the common highway of the sea, and the 
first naval battle of which we have record 
was fought. 

It is a ctirious, less than half told; story 
that we have of that first action. A clan 
of Celts—Irishmen—while “cruising along 
the west coast of Europe, during the fif- 
teenth century 3.c., entered the Mediter- 
ranean in search of what the gods might 
have in store for them. 

Unhappily, they laid their course along 
the south shore, and, reaching the land of 
Egypt, found the people there not only 
navigators of framed ships, but first-class 
fighting men as well. Moreover, the Egyp- 
tian fleet outnumbered the Irish. Nothing 
daunted, the Celts closed in and strove to 
carry the Egyptian ships with sword and 
ax in hand. But the brave dash was in 
vain; they gained only the right to be re- 

membered. 

-_-Having found the invaders such valiant 
fighters, the Egyptian monarch thought it 

worth while to let posterity know what a 
_ great victory he had won. 


words of description, he placed on a monu- 
~ ment, which remains | to — daye= =~ 


Sf 


THE EVOLUT ION OF THE BATTLE- SHIP. 


= The story of it 
he told in a picture which, with a few 


coe 


It is to be noted that Sie ihe Trish in- 
vaded Egyptian waters, the ships used in — 
both fleets were large rowboats, and that 
the only use—or, at any rate, the chief ‘pur> 
pose—of these boats was to carry fighting 
men. Voyages of great length were made 
in these boats. It is known that cattle were 
sometimes carried for food, and that on an 
occasion when the grain failed the crew 
landed, planted, raised and harvested a 
crop, and then sailed on. Jack was sailor 
and farmer, too. 

A sail was spread when the wind was 
fair, but the ship itself was neither armed 
nor armored. Moreover, the sailors had_ 
no weapon which they used exclusively on 
board ship. They shot arrows, hurled 
spears with throwing-sticks, or by hand, 
and finally boarded and plied the sword, 

But because the sailor never had to carry 
his arms on his back, he naturally in- 


creased the length and weight of his spear 
until he poised a huge beam on the rail of 


the ship, with the butt against a timber- 
head, and so drove the point through the 
light upper planking of the enemy’s ship 
and spitted a whole bank of oarsmen. 
seeing the advantage thus gained, the sea- 


man of superior ability designed a ram that = 


was permanently affixed to the ship’s bow. 


A Greek pirate of the seventh century — = 
B.c. invented the ram-bow, as ancient Greek _ 





pictures show, but that was not the only 
improvement pifates made in war-ships. In- 
deed, it was to individual sea-robbers that 
the splendid model of the earlier vessels 
was due. 

Before the ram was invented the kings 
of the sea had used their ingenuity, very 
naturally, in increasing the capacity of their 
ships; for, since the offensive power of their — 
ships consisted only in the number of fight- 
ing men that could be carried, it was 
obvious that the ship of the largest capacity 
was the most powerful. 


How the ‘‘ Fad For Speed” Began. 


But the ram added a new element of 
power to the ship that at once called for a 
modification of the model. The swifter the 
ram-armed ship, 
blow she could strike. What some naval — 
officers call “a fad for speed” had an im- 
mediate vogue. The pirates who adopted — 
rams also lengthened their hulls, because 
it was found that the increase of power_ 
thus obtained was applied more effectively 
than when ships were built higher out of 
water to accommodate more tiers of oars. 
- Indeed, so effective -was the war-ship thus 
developed by the Greek pirate that it was 


‘not wholly superseded until the battle of 


aS A.D. 1571. 





Ons 


the more effective the — ss 








- perior to that of the Greeks. 





But while the ramming-galley thus held 
‘its place for at least two thousand two hun- 
dred years, there were other developments 
in war-ships that are most interesting. 
Consider, for instance, 


the story of the 





 pattle of Salamis in the year 480 B.C. be- 
tween the fleets of the Persian Xerxes and 
his allies on one side, and the Greeks on 
the other. - 

Xerxes brought to the Hellespont a fleet 
of one thousand two hundred ships manned 
by two hundred and forty thousand men. 

-A storm destroyed four hundred ships, but 

the Persian king still had a force that in 
numbers and size of ships was vastly su- 
Moreover, 
the able Phcenicians were on his side: 

The day of the battle was beautiful; and 
as the two fleets, stretched out in line, ap-- 
proached each other, the officers and men 
had ample opportunity to see and consider 
what manner of force they had to meet. In 
the eyes of the Greeks, the Persians might — 
have well seemed a formidable host. Their 
battle-line towered above the long, 
ships of the Greeks, and every Persian ship 


THE LIVE WIRE. Tee 


showed a metal ram, modeled in the shape 
of some wild beast, often painted so that 
its jaws seemed to be dripping blood. 

On the towering timber castles, built at 
bow and stern, were catapults—huge bows 





IN AND STROVE TO CARRY THE EGYP- 
TIAN SHIPS WiTH SWORD AND AX 
IN HAND, 


that were bent by winches and, when re- 
leased by triggers, hurled heavy javelins 
and spears for hundreds of yards. With 
the catapults were great balliste—machines 
for throwing heavy stones. At the ends 
of the yards that were crossed on some of 
the masts were suspended jagged rocks 
weighing hundreds of pounds, with men 
clinging there in readiness to cut loose each 
rock and drop it crashing through the hull 
of any Greek ship that might come be- 
neath it. : 
Moreover, some of the Persian ships 
were provided with long spars rigged as 
derricks, each of which carried at the up- 
per end a kettle filled with oil-soaked com- 
bustibles. By these spars stood men ready 
to fire the combustibles and pour the fla- 
“ming masses down on any ship and crew 


lean that might come within reach. — 


Finally, every Persian ship carried plenty 


t 
# 





; of grapnels on each rail, with planks near 


by, so that the Greek ships might be gripped 
alongside, where the Persian soldiers could 
throw out the planks and then cross over, 
sword in hand. 

But no Greek quailed at the spectacle. A 
_ scout-ship had been sent out~-early in the 
day; and as the Persians came into view, 
this scout was seen hastening back, hotly 
pursued by some of the swifter Persian 
galleys. It was a stirring race—so stirring 
that a Greek captain named Ameinas, 
a brother of the poet A‘schylus, dashed forth 
to the rescue without waiting for orders. 

And at that a brazen shield, polished un- 
til it flamed in the sun, was hoisted above 
the Greek flag-ship, the signal for battle. 
The blare of a thousand trumpets answered 
the call of the admiral, and the Greek oars- 
mén “bent the supple ash” to drive their 
ships into the Persian line. 

The Persians were advancing at a stately 
stroke. The Greeks swept down upon them 
in a mad dash that proved irresistible. In 
vain was the shower of javelins and stones 
from the catapults and balliste, for most 
of these projectiles flew wild of their tar- 
gets. The Persians on the ends of yard- 
arms were shot from their perches, and 
the jagged rocks were left hanging. 

The flaming kettles were lowered, but it 





THE EVOLUTION OF THE BATTLE-SHIP. = 77 


often happened that when a Persian cap- 
tain was striving to pour the blazing mass 
upon a Greek crew a smart Greek galley 
rammed him at bow or stern, slewed his 
hulk until the fire fell into the sea, and at — 
the same time crushed in through his. planks 
and frames and sent the ship to the bottom, — 
leaving only a cloud of steam to tell where 

a Persian ship had been. : 

At the first onslaught the~ Geese ms 
clear through the Persian line. Turnin: 
then, with the starboard oars pulled har 
and those to port backed with equal power, 
the Greéks attacked the Persians in flank — 
and rear, fully animated with the feeling 
of the greatest of British admirals when he 
said that no captain could do wrong if he 
laid his ship alongside one of the enemy. ; 

Astonished, but not yet beaten, the Per- — 
sians now flung out their grappling-hooks ae 
and laid their plank gangways across to the 
Greek rails. But when the Persian soldiers — 
would have passed over these planks, they ahs 
were met above their own rails by the 
Greeks, who, with sword and pike, demon 
strated anew that well-trained celerity an 
might were better than numbers in a fight 
at sea as well as on land—demonstrated it 
so well that Xerxes rent his garments and 
burst into tears. ; 

After the battle of Salamis there was no 

















ONE CARTHAGINIAN CAPTAIN, IN HIS CONTEMPT FOR 5 ENEMY, VENTURED SO. ‘CLOSE INSHORE - 


THAT WIND AND CURRENT ‘THREW HIM ON THE SANDS. : 
CAME DOWN AND HAULED THE SHIP. ‘ABOVE HIGH WATER, Sse 


‘AT THAT “A LEGION OF ROMANS 


‘ = Rok 








naval warfare of importance to the develop- 


‘ment of fighting-ships until the people of 


Rome spread along the shores of the Mediter- 


ranean and came in contact with the Cartha- 










. be found, and they 


ginians. It is a curious fact that the Ro- 
mans never loved the sea. Even after they 
were forced afloat by war, they returned 
ashore as soon as possible; and when’ at 
last Rome gained the command of the 
world, the Roman dislike for the sea 
brought all improvements in ships, of at 
least in war-ships, to an end. 

A large number of buccaneers had found 
congenial ports in the island of Sicily, and 
from these ports they issued forth to prey 
on Roman commerce. When Rome would 


have driven them from the island, the Car- 


thaginians interfered as a matter of busi- 
ness; for Carthaginian merchants had a 
lucrative trade with the pirates. There- 


upon Rome declared war. 


To the Carthaginians this seemed to be a 
stroke of good for- 
tune. Carthaginian 
ships went hunting 
Roman commerce 
wherever it was to 


ravaged the shores 
of Italy, too, while 
Rome lay for the 


time impotent. 
But finally one 
Carthaginian cap- 


tain, in his contempt 
for the enemy, ven- 
tured so close in- 
shore that wind and 
current threw him 
on the sands. At 
that a legion of Ro- 
mans came down 
and hauled the ship 
above high water. 
Using the prize as a 


model, they began 
‘to build a navy. 
Consider, for a 


moment, the dimen- 
sions of what were 
the ablest of their 
vessels—swift ships 
fit to take a place in 
the pattle-line, | or to 
hunt an enemy in 
the uttermost limits: 
of the known world. 
They called these - 





THE LIVE WIRE. 


one hundred and five feet long by eleven feet 
broad. A quadreme (four banks of oars) 
was one htindred and twenty-five feet by 
thirteen feet, and its depth did not exceed 
seven feet. These were the f ships that won 
battles, triremes being usually the more ef- 
ficient. Some ships, of course, were very 
much larger. 

At the time when the Romans began to 
build a navy, the Greek ram was not a mere 
beam with a metal head. The bow was 
prolonged and sharpened out above the 
water in a form almost precisely like the 
overhangs found on the bows of all yachts 
built since the Gloriana, designed by Cap- 
tain Herreshoff, swept the race-courses of 
the Atlantic. 

While the ram was made, first of all, 
for aggression in battle, the pirates found 
that the overhang resulted in an increase of 
speed. It is a matter of. record that the 
galleys of the Greeks could cover as much 
as one hundred and 
twelve miles in a 
day, and for short 
spurts they could 
make as much as 
seven and eight 
knots an hour. 

The Romans, 
when they came to 
build a navy, con- 
sidered with un- 
biased minds all the 
advantages of 


sizes and models of 
ships then extant. 
Although at first 
they followed the 
Carthaginian model 
closely, eventually 
they cut the length 
of the trireme from 
one hundred and five 
feet to ninety feet. 

The full-length 
ship could not be 
turned in a complete 
circle in less than 
fifteen minutes. It 
was. swifter ina 


but it was not so 
handy for the tac- 
tics of battle. — 


shows the bent of 





ships triremes, - be- : 3 : 

é a — Oe y were THE CARTHAGINIANS MADE EARTHEN BOMBS WHICH. The or eet 

driven by three THEY FILLED WITH LIVE, VENOMOUS SER- Tee ANL fc) as 

banks or tiers of oars. F PENTS, AND THE POTS WERE DROPPED - eee 
"AND BROKEN ON THE DECKS OF auickly a 


Usually they were 
peel ease 


4 


THE SNEMY, 






under all circum- 


the 
various shapes and 


straight-away race, _ 


This improvement _ 













WANNA 


A study of a nation’s navy affords 
a perfect insight into the character of the 
people. 

The improvements in the weapons of 
“naval warfare came also with laggard steps 
in those days, but in this matter the Ro- 


_ stances. 


man love of battle was also seen. At the 
battle of Salamis there were two notable 
weapons. One was the ballista, that threw 
heavy stones to a great distance; the other 
was the crane, or derrick, that held aloft 
a metal kettle full of fire ready to be 
dumped upon the enemy. 

The Romans combined the two; they 
made a machine that threw earthen pots 
full of flaming combustibles into the ships 
of the enemy. The modern shell that first 
pierces and then rends the ship of the 
enemy is merely a development of the old 
Roman bomb. 

In the meantime, Archimedes had invent- 
ed the corvus, a huge derrick placed on the 
wall of a fort, which guarded the entrance 
to the harbor of Syracuse. When an en- 
emy came under the wall of the fort, 
Archimedes dropped an enormous corvus— 
a cone-shaped grapnel—from the derrick, 
clutched bow or stern or waist of the ven- 
turesome ship, and, hoisting away, lifted 
the end or ripped out the side of the war- 
ship, utterly destroying it. 
lifted some of the smaller ships of the 


enemy wholly out of water and dashed 


them to pieces on the rocks at the foot of 
the wall. z . Set ae 

The Romans adapted this remarkable 
machine to use on shipboard. 
6 LW = 


On occasion he 


A. derrick | 


WHEN THE TWO FLEETS CAME WITHIN 
SIGHT OF EACH OTHER,” THE CARTHA- 
GINIAN, CONFIDENT IN THE ANCIENT 
PROWESS OF HIS RACE, STRAGGLED 
FORTH TO BATTLE. TH& ROMAN FORM 
HIS SHIPS IN A WEDGE. 












suspended aloft a heavy cone of iron,*which 


was sometimes dropped cleat through the 
smaller ships of the enemy. When larger 


vessels were attacked, the cone dropped — 


through no more than the upper deck. At 
such times, however, the Romans hauled in 
in on the derrick-tackle,. and barbs tliat 
were affixed to the cone gripped the tim- 
bers around it. \ 
rolled over or dragged alongside the Ro- 
man vessel. : ae 
From the earliest days ships had carried 
planks used to make bridges for the boar 
ers. The Romans improved on this by 
building a bridge much longer than any 
combination of men could throw out bare- 
handed. It was wide enough for men to 
cross two abreast, and it was manipulated 
by means of a derrick. 
Finally, the Romans 







devised tubes 


through which the flaming combustibles of — 


the earthen-pot bombs could be poured — 
upon the enemy. After that certain liquids 
were discovered which, when kept asunder, 


were harmless, but when mingled burst into. — 


most destructive fires. These liquids were 
kept separate by partitions until the bomb 
was broken on the deck of an enemy. 

Of all the weapons of naval war used in 
the ancient times, however, there was one 


which proved deadly, and yet wasrestricted 


in its use to the nation developing it. The 


Carthaginians made earthen bombs which 


they filled with live, venomous serpents, and 
the pots were dropped and broken on the 


= decks of the enemy. = 


_ With a little imagination, one can yet see 





Then the ship was either — 


oe a 











we 




















seen on the. face of the sea. 


of defiance. 


Seanad bridges were lowered away. 


the ‘sea-fights between the Romans and the 


Carthaginians. When the two fleets came 
- within sight of each other, the Carthagin- 
jan, confident in the ancient prowess of 
his race, straggled forth to battle. The 
~ Roman, formed his ships in a _wedge—a 
it is gethecibeted that the ram was the most 
_ powerful weapon of offense. 


Rome’s Great Sea-Victory. 


Ope ‘may pause here to recall that the 
spectacle of the opposing fleets, as they 
drew together, was the most gorgeous ever 
Every hull 
was heavily decorated with polished metal. 
Tas and streamers were displayed in lav- 
ish profusion from every point of spar and 
- rigging, and the sails were colored to show 
the rank of the officers on board—purple 
being used for the admiral. Even the rig- 
- of the flag-ship was made of brilliant 
and bands of musicians filled the air 
melody. 
the fleets drew together, the music 
ost in the trumpet-call and the shout 
Huge arrows and machine- 
_ flung bombs were sent hurtling and whirl- 
ing from ship to ship, and then the Roman 
wedge was driven crashing through the 
Carthaginian line. 

- The long iron tubes poured forth their 
. flames. Fire-ships blazed up. 
Ships that 


failed to make a stroke at the first dash 


ty 


Pon 
ue 


7 





filled the air. 


were turned by cursing crews to try again. 
The smoke of flaming pitch and sulfur 
Oars were broken. 

The sides of ships were crushed in. 
Broken hulls heeled to the inrush of the 
sea and, rocking slowly to and fro, sank 
until the waves lapped the feet of men who 
reached up to strike even as the sea en- 
gulfed them. Nor did the drowning strike 
in vain; for, while the destruction wrought 
by other means was great, the issue rested 


at last onthe brute muscle and ferocity of 
_ the men. 
‘the sword. 


It was the day of the man with 


So Rome, having been forced to fight 
afloat, gained command of the sea and ex- 
terminated the Carthaginian nation. 

The last Carthaginian war ended one 
“hundred nd forty-six years before the 
Christian era. For a thousand ‘years no 
better Ships were made than those that were 
used in the latest battle between the Ro- 


man and the Carthaginian, and but one _ 


“new weapon for use on ship was developed 
—Greek fire—which was only a fiercer com- 


‘ination of flaming chemicals than the Ro- 
mans had used. 


But in the thirteenth century, one ‘Ber- 


Graplings > 


excellent turret on the forecastle. 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


thold Schwartz, of Freyburg, told the world 
that a certain combination of saltpeter, sul- 
fur, and charcoal would prove more effi- 
cient in throwing projectiles than the old 
ballista; and at the battle of Lepanto, but 
not before, all the world was convinced 
that the German was right. 

Meanwhile, the sail was slowly  super- 
seding the oar. The far-seeing Romans 
were at one time impressed with this pos- 
sibility, and they equipped one fleet with 
sails and another with oars, maneuvering 
the two against each other. The sails and 
tackles, however—especially the tackles— 
were then so rude that the oars won easily. 

But because rowing killed off the slaves 
rapidly, while sailing preserved these nec- 
essary members of the crew, sails gained 
slowly in favor. In the early days sails 
were auxiliary to oars. When Columbus 
went hunting the continent on the far side 
of the Unknown Sea, oars were auxiliary 
to sails at all times save in actual battle. 
Yet when Turk and Christian met at Le- 
panto, every ship went into the fight driven 
by oars alone. 

But in the matter of arms the progress 
had been great. The first cannon was an 
open-topped keg made of thick staves 
hooped with iron. A bag of powder was 
dropped into the bottom of the keg, a wad 
of hay was rammed in on top, and a round- 
ed stone was placed on the hay. When the 
powder was touched off, the stone was sure . 
to fly away in the general direction of the 
enemy — provided, always, that the hoops 
didn’t give way. It was about as accurate 
as a ballista. 

Within a hundred years cast-iron mortars 
displaced the wooden kegs; and in 1453 the 
Turks, who were then the leading fighters 
of the world, had cast-iron cannon, with a 
bore twenty-seven inches in diameter. 
Stones were still used for projectiles, and- 
one writer says that these guns were “some- 
what unhandy!” They could be fired but 
four times in a day. 


Great Guns Come Into Use. 


Aniong the earliest cannon, properly so 
called, were those cast by Louis XI, in 1478. 
These were tubes of sufficient size and 
strength to throw a cast-iron ball weighing ~ 
forty-five pounds. They were also mount- 
ed on carriages. When this point had been 
reached in the art of gun-making, the era_ 
of ships armed with guns began. The day 
of the frigate and the  three-decker 
dawned, though its sun was by no means 
above the horizon. 

Ships were built to carry guns, and one 
old-time picture shows such a ship with an 
Guns 





= > 


that could be fired from the shoulder were 
also made; but nearly one hundred years 
after the day of Columbus, a very large 
proportion of the naval seamen of the 
world preferred good, solid beaks to can- 
non, and the longbow to the firelock. 
Some there were—good men, too, and 
may the memory of their spirit never 
perish—who depended most on the 
well-sharpened, well-handled cutlas. 

Concerning the ships that were 
gathered for the battle of Lepanto, 
it is said that the Christians had one 
hundred and six “ royal galleys” and 
six “galleases” sent by the Vene- 
tians; twelve galleys contributed by 
the Pope, ahd eighty-eight galleys 


and: a sates of brigantines foun the Span- 


om ish. navy. It was a fleet.composed of more 


than two hundred of the best fighting-ships 


in the world, but they were all rowboats. 
of beak — 
tong decks besides a poop and forecastle 


In size and shape of hull and fo 
~ they were no improvement upon the gal- 




























leys used by Greek pirates three hundred 
years before the Christian era. 

Each galley, However, carried at least. one 
cannon mounted on its forecastle, in place 


of the old-time catapult and  ballista;— while 2 


men “armed. with firelock — eens stood 
shoulder to shoulder. with the bowmen, and — 


each deck was protected by a stout bulwark 
that arose breast high along each» rail. 
- The galleases- were galleys. having two 


THE PERSIANS NOW FLUNG OUT THEIR GRAPPLING-HOOKS AND. ‘LAID THEIR PLANK. Sameer es = 
ACROSS TO THE GREEK RAILS, 


> eas 5 - : == = i es = Sirs = 
THE EVOLUTION OF THE BATTLE -SHIP. — = = 81 See 




























82 


= 


deck, though no deck in the fleet covered 
the hull entirely. All the ships depended 
on oarsmen—slaves chained in their places 
- —for motive power in action, and slaves 

could not work under hatches. 


On the 
lower decks of the galleases the guns were 
placed between banks of oarsmen, and other 


- guns were mounted on poop and forecastle, 


so that these*big ships each carried from 
forty to fifty cannon each. r 


Eighty Thousand Men in One Fleet. 


The brigantines, though smaller than gal- 
leys or galleases, were further developed 


as ships than, either, because they depended 
-more on the use of sails. : 
the fleet carried lower sails, but the brig- 


All the vessels in 


antines had topsails also. In_ short, here 
was a real transition fleet, an aggregation 


of ships that had the chief features of the 
vessels of other days and of fleets that 
were to come. 


The total number of men 
yresent on the Christian side was eighty 


- thousand. | : 





The flag-ship is worth special mention, 
or she was a royal galley; that is, a gal- 
ley of the largest size, and she was “ Bar- 
celona-built,” Barcelona being famous in 
those days for swift models. As first de- 


signed, she had carried a_ beak like the 


others; but the-admiral, Don John of Aus- 


- tria, was a man so far ahead of his age in 


his confidence in gunpowder that he cut 
off the ram. Moreover Don John carried 
three hundred men armed with firelocks 
to one hundred bowmen, and no other ship 
had such a proportion. 

On the other side, the Turks had more 
than two hundred and fifty galleys of the 
Jargest size, manned by one hundred and 
twenty thousand men. The beak and the 
bow were the chief. weapons with the 
Turks. The oarsmen, it is noted, were 
chiefly Christian slaves. That was a period 
when a Turkish commander was known to 


“have ordered a Christian. prisoner of high 


rank to be skinned alive in the market- 
‘place of his town. 

The day of the battle was Sunday, Oc- 
tober 7, 1571. Two hours before day the 
Christian fleet got under way and went in 


~ search of ‘the Turks, who were at anchor 


at Lepanto. For a time they drove along, 

silent and dogged, against a head wind. 
When the sun arose the great flags show- 

ing the Lion of St. Mark, the crossed keys 


and triple miter of the Pope, and the blood- 


2 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


and-gold of old Spain, were flung to the 
breeze, while the bands of the fleet awoke 
the echoes until even the slaves at the oars 
answered with shout and song. 

And then, just as the Turks were seen to 
be under way, the wind, “through the 
mercy of God,” shifted into the teeth of 
the hated Mohammedans.. 

The Turks were formed in a line of the 
long-approved crescent shape. To meet 
this, Don John towed his galleases ahead to 
form an advance line. Behind these he 
stretched all of his ships in a straight line 
save thirty-five held in reserve. 

This done, the whole fleet moved quietly 
forward until the Turks were almost upon 
them. Then, suddenly, the three lines 
paused, every voice was hushed, every fight- 
ing man fell upon his knees before the 
cross, while the priests solemnly gave ab- 
solution. As the men arose from their 
knees, the fleet was driven into the hol- 
low of the Turkish line. 

The broadsides of the huge Venetian 
ships hurled a storm of shot that threw the 
Turkish center into confusion; but the vet- 
eran Moslems quickly recovered, dashed 
past the galleases in spite of a second 
broadside, and met the second Christian 
line. Not a few of the Christian galleys 
were overwhelmed by the shock. More- 
over, the Turks far outnumbered the Chris- 
tian host. 

But, in the meantime, here and there 
Turkish galleys were seen to be settling, 
from the effect of the Christian fire, and 
the clouds of Turkish arrows were an- 
swered by the hail of bullets from the 
Christian’s muskets. The armor, or bul- 
warks on the Christian galleys stopped 
many a deadly projectile. 


Dawn of a New Era. 


Of the Turkish fleet, more than two 
hundred and fifty strong, only forty ships 
escaped. Of the others, one hundred and 
thirty were captured and eighty sank, fight- 
ing. The Christians lost eight thousdhd 
killed; the Turks, twenty-five thousand. 

In spite of a very great superiority in the 
numbers of the enemy, the cannon and the 


musket had prevailed over the beak and 


the arrow. The superiority of modern 
weapons was at last proven beyond dis- 


pute. ; 
The day of the man behind the gun had 


come. 


It took the world two thousand years to make any radical improvements in its fighting-ships ; 


complete revolution. 


_ within the last three hundred and fifty years the entire’ system-of naval warfare has undergone a 


In a second article, to be published in the next issue of the LIVE WIRE, John R. Spears 


; will describe the transformation of the victorious galley of Lepanto into the modern leviathan of 
_ steel which we call a battle-ship. ae = 


. 





GOOD-NATURED CARICATURES OF — 
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x 


LEOPOLD REX — 








HE Teuton was a monster building, 
up and down, I mean. Forty-five 
stories there were, mostly in the big 
square tower. Seventeen floors 

were on the flat and twenty-eight built on 
top, the tower extension being all steel. 
Up the middle of the tower ran. an iron 
stack which poked itself up over the top 
dike the black grandfather of all flagstaffs. 

That was the Teuton. From her unfin- 
ished top you could pretty nearly spot the 
new fashions in Piccadilly across the At- 
lantic. Of course the big steel shack was 
full of potentialities, as the boss iron- 
worker called them. Redding, ‘his name 
was, a canny Scot. 

“Mariners “Il make port by her when 
they get the electrics in place,” Redding said. 
He fetched a long breath, half muzzled by 
the weight of the wind, up where we were. 
“Thorny, lad, never was such a _ job! 
Barrin’ the fey that’s interfering—will he 
leave us-finish it?” And Red’s face went 
black, as it well might. 

We were sitting in the crow’s-nest. It 
was just a sheet-iron gallery, built rotund 
the big smoke-stack that thrust up out of 
the skeleton steel-work of the tower-top. 

Thirty feet beneath us twenty ironwork- 
ers drilied and pounded and clanked and 
played pitch and toss with red-hot rivets. 
Hooked to the rim of the smoke-stack, an- 
other dozen feet up, was the bosun’s-chair 
that we hauled ourselves to the crow’s-nest 
with, the ropes trailing over the edge of 
the sheet-iron nest. The whole thing was 
temporary, of course, fixed so as to be out 
of the way of the gang working below. 

But you'll never know what I was doing 
up there—the highest man of my trade in 
the wide world! The crow’s-nest was a 
close fit, even for two men. For two-thirds 
of the way round the gallery was filled with 
varnished boxes, three by four feet, with 
side-handles, hooked together with twisty 
green cords. 

Going up from where I sat in front of 


_ answering me. 


88 


one of the: end-boxes was a flagstaff, 
clamped to the stack and poking way over 
it, with a spritsail-yard near the top and 
flag-halyards hanging from that—only they 
were wires. 7 

Wireless telegraph it was; a high-up ex- 
perimental plant, battery boxes and all, and 
I was wireless operator. 

“ Cl-lick—el-lick, click—el-lick, click—click 
Sel-lick th” 

That was the Scotia calling, the big liner, 
Heaven knows how far out at sea, for: our 
plant was tuned for long-distance only. 

“ Cl-lickity-click, cl-lick.” That was Brow- 
head, the London and Liverpool relay sta- 
tion, the whole width of the Atlantic. Ocean 
between us! 

All day I picked them up, those air-tallc- 
ers, and sometimes far into the night, for 
then the racket of the riveting was over be- 
low, and there was nothing but the blue, 
hissing flashes from the crow’s-nest, when I 
tried a thousand-and-thousand-mile talk. It 
was mighty fascinating, and Redding used 
to quit manhandling his men, just to come 
up and look and listen, with his mouth open. — 

Only just now, Red’s! jaw was clamped 
like a wolf-trap. He had something of his 
own on his mind, and he eased it off on me. 
Mighty serious, too, it was. 

“This morning’s ,the second time,’ Red 
growled. “There’s some rotten work go- 
ing on, Thorny, and I can’t spot it. Every 
iron-Jack of the twenty down there’s sore, 
an’s got his harpoon out for the next man. 
I’m fair foozled, that’s what.” 

“What was it this morning?” he. said, 
“More deviltry, and worse. 
I found a whole row of king-pin_rivet-heads 
sheared off clean as cheese, that’s. what. 
Just missed dropping a five-ton beam on 
New York. Cut off the under side of the 
beam, they were, and the job, must ha’ been 
done right under my nose. *Twas an expert 
did it.” ; 

“That’s the second time, isn’t it?” I said. 
I felt a little nervous on my own account. 








VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


Suppose one of those loosened steel beams 
‘should slew round in a gale and let go the 
whole tower-top? 

And Lord, how it did blow up there, four 
hundred feet above Manhattan Island! 
Like a ship’s mast that steel tower rocked 
sometimes. More than once the bosun’s- 
chair had blown out with me almost at right 
angles with the smoke-stack. And_ bitter 
cold, with three suits of flannels on. 

“Curious you can’t spot the sneaking 
devil that’s doing it,” I said. “Getting to be 
more than a joke, this tampering with the 
steel work.” 

““When I do, he won't go down the lad- 
“ders,” Red said, gritting his teeth. “ There’s 
two spotters on, besides the men themselves, 
and I might as well hire cigar-store Indians. 
I fancy it’s up to you to watch down some, 
Thornburgh,” he says, rather grim. 

With that, Red climbed out of the crow’s- 
nest and lowered himself in the bosun’s- 
chair, leaving me with a “balloony” feeling 
that was mighty unpleasant. All the after- 


fioon, while I wasn’t sneaking wireless calls. 


from the ocean and Browhead on the Brit- 
ish coast, I kept sizing up the men working 
below. 

I couldn’t see a wrong move, though, and 
toward night, when the tower hands quit, I 
“knocked off, too. I had to come back after 
supper and work till eleven or twelve, test- 
ing the night “ wires,” and I wanted to stow 
away three or four pounds of beefsteak, to 
keep off the bitter cold. It was blowing up 
mighty keen then, and I could see the storm- 
signals hoisted. So I pulled up the bosun’s- 
chair and let myself down, hand under hand, 
thirty feet to the tower-top. 

There was a mighty nervy thing done, by 
the way, when that bosun’s-chair was" first 
put up. A rigger by the name of Parker— 
Jim Parker, it was—had the job, one of the 
regular hands on the Teuton work at the 
time. | 

Parker painted the big smoke-stack and 
fixed up the crow’s-nest for the wireless. 
He was riveting the rim of the stack one 
day, sitting in the bosun’s-chair that he had 

ulled himself up by—just a short plank, it 

as, with a triangle of rope reeved through 
the ends. 

Well, Parker happened to stand up on the 
chair with his hands on the top rim of the 
stack, when, zip! A blast of wind whipped 
the plank from under him, whirling it way 

round to the far side of the stack, and there 
was Parker hanging by his hands from the 


ae rim ie a 


I guess there wasn’t_any of the gang be- 
low doing any breathing right then as soon 
as they saw Parker’s fix. But Jim was on 


to his job, all right. He just gave a kick 


of one leg, as much as to say, “ Watch me, — E 
now!” and began working his way, hand 


after hand, round to the chair. Then he 


tucked himself in and went on with his 


work, cool and comfortable. Jim surely had 
nerve. S SSeEL 
We were all mighty sorry, three or four 


days after that, when he cracked his head _ 
in a fall, having tangled himself in the steel- 


work, and had to go in hospital. = 


It must have feezed Jim, that ‘tumble. — 
When he got about again, in a few days, he 
hired a shark lawyer to sue the Teuton 


contractors. Somehow the building people 


forced the case to trial quick, and Parker 
lost on account of “contributory negli- 
gence.” They said he went clean daffy then, ~ 


but we didn’t see any more of him, natu- 
rally. —— 

I was thinking of Jimmy Parker. when I 
went to supper, and somehow I kept think- 
ing of him when I came back, and had the 
night watchman hoist me up in the elevator. 


Then I pulled myself up to the crow’s-nest — 


in the bosun’s-chair and stowed myself away 
there all by my lonesome in the dark and 
storm, with New York’s whole Japanese- 
lantern display down in the black pit. — 


But I had my finger on the world, the © 


whole wide world of space! < 


Before Barry, the night-watch, left me, he — 
handed over something of mine that I'd 


clean forgotten. 
“Wan o’ the b’ys found it where you left 
it, in yer pigeon-coop,” he said. 


It was a revolver, a mighty wicked gun — 


for fly-by-night footpads. I poked it in the 
pocket of my ulster, and happened to men- 
tion what Foreman Redding had said about 
the crooked work among the iron-workers 
and the steel girders being tampered with. 


“T have me thoughts ’tis not human,” old | 


Barry said. “’Tis said Jim Parker’s dead. 
Mayhap his haunt’s playin’ th’ deuce wid 
us.” He was going to say something else, 
but started down, instead, in a hurry. 

It was the roughest night I’d put in on 
the job. There was a mackerel sky over- 
head, and the gale blowing up from the 


harbor ripped off the edges of the sheep’s- — 


backs, lashing the wet clouds across your 
face like icicles in sheets. 
“About 10 P.M. will be my figure, this 


turn,” I concluded, as I switched on the lit- 


tle incandescent bulb that lighted my record- 
pad and turned on the switch-key of the 


wireless relay instrument. I think I men-- 


tioned before that the plant was only tuned- 
up for catching long-distance ether talk. My 


business was to jot down anything that the 


relay gathered in. 


There was an ear-trumpet attachment— 


like fhe telephone ladies use, you know, 

















A louder, clearer current broke in. 


myself,” I murmured. 
bosun’s-chair, with frozen hands, down to 


snapped over the head and covering both 


ears. ee SS age out everything but the 


Soni tie Blacness of the universe. 


Curious feelings you get on a job like 
that. If you don’t believe it, just try it 
once—especially under circumstances like 
mine, four hundred feet from anything 


“solid, or anybody, plastered against the big, 


grim black smoke-funnel of the Teuton. 

And it was getting colder every minute, 
‘re on top of that awful big building, 
swaying in the gale and moaning in all. its 
steel joints and limbs, like a tortured giant. 

Ne Vd, Needs Chi. 13!" 

Somewhere off in the black void the 
cruiser Chicago was calling the Brooklyn 
Navy Yard. There was some trouble with 





the yard’s cofnections; I couldn’t get the 


rights of it, but pretty soon the cruiser 
switched to the Western Union call. She 
was off Charleston and asked to be reported. 
The 
clicks hummed like harp-strings. That was 
long-distance, and my plant took it in like 


~ milk. 


“Fr 6—Bro.” 

Browhead, England, started to chin with 
Fire Island plant—three thousand miles over 
the ocean, right through the black heart of 
the Atlantic gale—and I was stealing the 
message a few miles farther on. 

“Ay, ay—Ay, ay. Premier—Bannerman 
—dead—Asquith—ministry—succeed — King 
—prorogues—Parliament—” 

It was a press message. The cruiser broke 
into it, and I had to listen mighty close. 


Browhead had lots to say, too, just like the 


British bunch, playing with a new toy. Be- 
fore I had it all down, including Fire Is- 
land’s “O. K.,” my key-hand was like a 
chunk of ice. Crouching down behind the 
sheet-iron sheathing, I looked at my watch, 
open on the battery box. It was 9.15. 
“The first g-n I hear I'll ‘good night’ 
“Thirty feet in a 


a skeleton tower-top, in the dark and a 
forty-mile gale—that’s good enough excuse 
for Operator Thornburgh.” 

© Click—click—click.  Click—click—click.” 

That sound didn’t come through the ear- 
pieces. That wasn’t wireless. It sounded 
like some one chipping at the big smoke- 
stack, down below. 

“ Click—click—click—seep ! 1? 

I slipped off the head-gear, fumbling it 
with numbed fingers, and poked my head 
over the edge of the crow’s-nest. The first 


thing I saw gave me a start, I can tell you. 


It was black on the tower-top, but that 
wasn’t what ee me. All at once it oc- 


I = 
& 


-Parker’s ghost!” 





THE LIVE WIRE. 


curred to me that the rope that held the 
bosun’s-chair—my only way to get up or 
down—was not flapping against the stack, 
where it was hooked overhead to the rim 
of the big funnel. 

But I saw it all right! The bosun’s-chair 
was gone from under the crow’s-nest, and 
the double line of rope was pulled out taut, 
ten feet away from the edge of the nest. | 

Some one ,below had disconnected the 
sheeve-block that held the thing in place, 
and made the ropes fast again, a good long 
distance out of my reach. That was plain 
as day, for the ropes were pulled out against 
the gale and slanted up and down, rigid as 
iron rods. 

Curiously enough, the whole beauty of the 
situation didn’t strike in, first off. I just 
glanced at the ropes and then tried to see 
what was going on below to make that 
clicking noise which wasn’t the wireless, I 
forgot about being frozen to death, and just 
gawked over the rail like a lost gander till 
I thought of something and grinned, mighty 
relieved. 

“Barry, you darned old fool, a joke’s a 
joke!” I shouted. “Swing in that bosun’s- 
chair. I’m half froze.” 

“ Click—click—click.” 

A giggling sort of laugh came up from 
the dark below, and that mysterious tinker- 
ing went right on, regular as clock-work. 
Then I saw him—or it—whatever it was. 

It wasn’t Barry, the big, fat night-watch. 
It was a small pale blot£you couldn’t call 
the shapeless thing anything else—squirming- 
along the steel girders, and click—click— 
clicking as it moved about. 

Just for a second my hair pulled—tI 
haven’t got much to pull, at that, but what 
there was was mighty unanimous. Then I 
got a feeling somewhere in my front that 
was a lot colder than the cold of the aes 
night wind. 

I’m not any more superstitious than a 
wireless operator gets to be, but you'll guess 
something of how I felt if you'll just take 
a few quiet thinks of the awful mystery of 
the whole wireless thing; and then remem- 
ber how I was fixed, alone in the black sky, 
half frozen, and that awful, knowing, plan- 
ning, white Thing crawling round below, 
making a noise like bare bones clicking on 
the steel girders. 

I crawled some more when I pomembernd 
what Redding and old man Barry had said. 

“Barry said it’s Jimmy Parker’s haunt, 
atid Red said a fey was working. By the 
Lord Harty, Parker! It is Parker—or — 
T just yelled that. : 

T saw the thin, white, grinning face of the 
dead rigger turned up at me. A mad swoop 
of the gale ripped a section of clouds apart — 





VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 91 









































































































































I COULD HARDLY GRIP THE PISTOL IN MY FROZEN HAND AT THAT, BUT I TRAINED IT ON HIM. I 
COULD SEE HIM GRIN IN THE STARLIGHT, FOR ALL THE WORLD LIKE 
A PLASTER-FACED MUMMY-CORPSE,. 











like a torn ceiling-cloth, and let the scared 
stars. look down between. I couldn’t make 
_ out the shape of the white thing, but it 
“squirmed on the girders, and that crawly 
click—click—click accompanied every move- 
ment: 

_ My head came back to my shoulders. I 
knew: the spook’s little game now, as well 
as if I’d been down there beside him. 

“He's shearing off the rivet-heads on the 
under side of the girders, knocking ’em off 
with a spook cold-chisel and spook hand- 
sledge, that’s what Mr. Spook Parker's do- 
ing; and he’s got me treed up here in a 
private ice-box, admiring his spook stunts—” 

My hand happened to bump into the re- 
volver in the pocket of my ulster, and I gave 
a yelp of joy. The spook stopped clicking 
to: look up again. I could see him pretty 

plain now, my eyes getting used to the dark- 
ness, 

“ Parker,” I said, “ maybe-you're. alive or 
maybe you’ re dead, but: it's. a safe gamble 
there won’t be any. doubt: about it; unless 
you. swing. that bosun’s-chair in here, and 

do it quick!” 
- I could hardly grip the pistol in my frozen 
ens atithat, but I trained it on him. 

I could see him-grin:in the starlight, for 
all ithe world like a plaster-faced mummy- 
“COFPSEi5 | : 

“Tim dead a’ready, Thorny,” he said, in.a 
squeaky, hard kind of voice. “I'll not swing 
the bosun’s-chair (d’ye mind how it tried to 
swing» me once, when I| was living?), ‘and, 
furthermore, I’ve took the precaution to 
slug Tommy Barry, down below. Ye'll 
freeze stiff where you are before morning.” 

He went right on, all tied up with his 
rivet-shearing, as though I didn’t exist. 
That made me hot in spite of the biting 

cold, but it feezed me how the little imp 
could! see the devil’s work he was doing 
without miss or slip in that blackness, where 
even Redding wouldn’t go. 

“Two seconds I'll give you!” I shouted, 
mad as a hatter. “Then I'll fill you fuller 
of holes than a girder without bolts. I'll 
stop your little game!” 

“Tt'll do you no good, Thorny,” he yelled 
over the gale, but cool as ice. “I swore 
before I died to blow the top o’ this here 


tower off. Last night I tackled the wrong. 
girder, but I have the king stringer in hand. 


now. I'll learn Reddy an’ the bosses to 


crack my head an’ fire me an’ leave me to 


perish in poverty. 

“ Shoot away, Thorny, if it will amuse ye 
an’ pass the time. If you don’t presently go 
sailing over New York in this fine breeze, 
you'll freeze stiff, anyhow!” 


The man was not so crazy but what: he 
was unlocking steel-work-that would wreck 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


in crow’s-nest. 


the tower-top and surely do me to death. i 


had learned enough of construction. work 
from Redding for that. The watchman dis- 
abled—how cunning crazy folks are (the 
bosun’s-chair job showed that); I had my 
choice of freezing to death (as I surely 
would before morning) or of going to de- 
struction with the loosened steel-work. 
The tower, locked and safe.now, snapped 
like a whip-lash in the wind. 

But was I to shoot the poor crazy devil? 
It smelt like murder—and useless murder, 
too. I was all numb below the waist, and 
my arms were going fast. I had no hands 
any more. : 

The bosun’s-chair wouldn’t do me much 
good if I had it now. I could never lower 
myself without breaking my neck. I was 
trapped every way you looked. Talk about 
crazy people being cunning! 

“Curse you! I'll do you yet!” I jerked 
back my pistol-arm and cracked my funny- 
bone against the battery box. Just for two 
seconds I cursed and swore, numbed and 
tingling in torture, never minding the gun, 
that dropped over the side, clattering on the 
steel-work below. The relay was clicking 
away, too, like a sounder in a telegraph-of- 
fice where all’s warm and comfortable. 

I looked and listened a moment. ’Twas 
Browhead again, calling the Canada station 
this time, five hundred miles away east. 

Frozen, chilled to the bone as I was, the 
clicking wireless gave me an inspiration. I 
had the wholé-wide world in my grip, and 
I suffered myself to be sent to death by a 
lunatic ironworker. 

I leaped onto the instrument like a cat 
onto .a mouse. I threw on the whole power 
of the sender, not only the current of the 





battery in the crow’s-nest but the subsidiary - 


battery, four hundred feet below, in the cel- 


lars of the Teuton, where the big subsidiary - 


sending-cable led. The green, hissing 
flashes caught Parker’s attention. 
“That's right, Thorny,’ he shouted; 


“have some fun with yourself while you 


got time.” ° 

I threw on the battery current, hooked up 
with the cable-wire, used only in emergency. 
Then with an inside prayer, I pounded out 
the call to Browhead with the flat of my 
fist. My fingers were gone long ago. I 
caught the Britisher’s “ Ay—ay ” just in time 
to fetch my heart back from what used. to 
be my feet. 

“Bro—Bro. N. Y. I'm wireless top of © 
Teuton Building, Crazy man’s got me treed 
Wire Brooklyn Navy, Yard — 
quick, or cable help.” 

There was silence for a second; then the 


idiot at Browhead started in like this+ Z 


“Ay—ay. Havin’ larks with us, old pal? 


VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 


Piffle. 
Dutch. 


Whose Teuton? Go ‘way back, 
You been stealing our juice, Yah!” 

“Tt’s no joke!” My answer went up in a 
flaring green scream. “It’s life or death. 
Ym Thornburgh, Marconigram wireless, 
N. Y. For Heaven’s ‘sake cable here for 
help. I can’t get them. I’m tuned to long- 
distance only.” 

Again Browhead came back. If it takes 
my last cent, ’ll hunt down that pin-headed 
cockney some day and manhandle him till 
his own mother won’t know him. 

“Boo, Yank! Il report you, right and 
plenty, fuddling my press-work. In_ the 
morning by the bright light, g. n.” 

Good night! That settled Browhead— 
and Operator Thornburgh. I fumbled at my 
head-gear, trying to get it .off, both hands 
gone—and quit, right there, dead already. 

©“ Cl-lick, click — click—click-click,  click- 
click.” T—h—o! Some one calling me, 
Thornburgh. “I got you, Thorny!” Like 
a rope to a drowning man, flung up the 
ragged, storm-swept Atlantic coast, it came. 
“Ym Chicago cruiser, Charleston Harbor. 
Watson, opr. I heard Johnny Bull-head. 
You’re on the new Teuton, ain’t you?” 

“ Yes ! ” 

I just managed to punch out the answer 
with my wrist on the key. My head was 
feeling pretty funny, heavy, and sleepy. 

“©. K. Switch off interference. I'll get 
the yard or Western Union. Officer deck’s 
shot a boat to shore; land wire. Buck up, 
boy!” 

ead; black silence, then. I couldn’t hear 
the wind, even, that plastered me against 
the smoke-stack, nor move anything but my 
eyes. I must have dropped into a kind of 
doze. Something roused me. My eyes fell 
on my open watch—half-past ten. No won- 
der I was a stone. 

Parker was banging iron bolts against the 
crow’s-nest and shouting over the swaying 
and groaning of the steel-work. 

“T’m going, I tell you! Going down be- 
low and watch you come sailing! There'll 
be a rouser along soon. Getting black as 
ink down harbor. So long, Thorny!” 

I lunged forward and, as it happened, my 
elbow pushed back the switch-key of the 
relay. 

“ Ain’t croaked, are you?” The wireless 
clicked like mad. “It’s all right—o! I got 
?em both, yard and W. U- — It-was good 
old Billy Watson, “on the blessed cruiser. 


“Told ’em hustle like the dickens. Or: 
~ me, can’t you?” 
J couldn’t, and I didn’t have to. Thank 


= Heaven for that. I fumbled at the sending- 
key, shooting up meaningless streaks of 
een — and then a whole lot more 





93 


I heard a voice like Jimmy Parker’s let 
out a snarl, and my revolver rattled (1 knew 


her sound) like an old burglar-alarm. Some 


one else let out a wad of lurid language, and 
that was capped by a sound that nothing 
can make but a policeman’s night-stick con- 
necting with somebody’s head, hastily and 
enthusiastically. 

“Now, will you be good?” the copper 
yelled. 

On top of that old Barry, the watchony, 
sang out: 

“Tis Jimmy’s ha’nt! I knowed it w’en 
he strook me! F’r Lard’s sake, git Thorny 
down! Man, man, look, th’ ghost’s locked 
loose the girders. Rope ’ em, lads, *fore we 
all go down together!” 

A platoon of Mulberry Street bluecoats 
laid the haunt, good and hard. I found that 
out when I perked up and began to take no- — 
tice, down below in the Teuton office. 

A chipper young ambulance surgeon in 
white tied up Jimmy Parker’s head, where 
he sprawled on the floor. Seems Jimmy had 
levanted from the surgeon’s own hospital 
the night before. : 

“Nurse thought he’d croaked; He got 
away between the light’,” the young doctor 


told me. “He had this tower-wrecking job 
on his mind. Made tracks oyer here. 
Sneaked past the watchman once and 


slugged him next time. Figured out his 
wrongs in that cracked head of his that 
brought him back to us, I suppose. Keen as 
knives, those brain-fever cases. You can’t 
tell what they’ll do.” 

There was something Puzzling me yet. 

SO aN: doce,” I said, “ Jimmy’s an expert 
iron-man, 0’ course, but how in the name of 
names could he see to do that clever, clean 
rivet shearing up there in the dark? Never 
making a slip, too.” : 

The doctor laughed. “You wouldn’t un- 
derstand,” he said. “Brain fever’s funny. 
Know what a nyctalops is? Chap that can 
see in the dark, like a blooming owl. Maybe 
it was that, and then, again, maybe that fall 
he got affected the optic nerve. Does that 
sometimes. But talk about doing stunts in 
the dark, you sure did it.” 

He stood up, looking at me with his hands 
in his pockets, like I was a kind of twenty- 
one century wonder myself. 

“Think of wiring six thousand miles, 
without any wires, for a bunch of cops that 
wasn’t three blocks away! And getting ’em 
by way of the United States navy, down 
south. Holy smoke! No wonder Roose- 
velt wants battle-ships!” : 

The doctor went off, shaking his head, to 
help load the haunt of the Teuton into his 
cart. I went home, Bees pretty hard 


myself. < 





} 
. 


NO DAMAGES ALLOWED. 





HE EMPLOYEE: “PLEASE, SIR, (VE BEEN AN’ GONE: AN’ GOT MARRIED, AND I'D LIKE YOU TO RAISE 
MY WAGES, SIR.” ; ; 


THE EMPLOYER: “VERY SORRY FOR YOU, SMITH, I'M SURE, BUT I CAN'T DO THAT, I'M ONLY 
__- RESPONSIBLE FOR ACCIDENTS THAT HAPPEN IN THE WORKS, YOU KNoW.”—London Sketch, 
os . re 9 4. z > E ; = ; os 


‘ 





ODD THINGS THAT THE CHINAMAN’S” 
LAWS MAKE HIM DO. 


BY DR. W. H. CURTISS. 








OBABLY no other government on 
earth has such a hold upon its people 


as has China. It is rare indeed for 

a Chinaman to get lost. Each official 
is responsible for his subordinates: they for 
those under them, on down to the elders of 
each village, however small, and he for the 
heads of families. 

There is not the scattering of families that 
prevails in the West. There is no sentiment 
of “Go West, young man, and grow up with 
the country,” to allure the young men away 
from home. The sons, when they marry, in- 
stead of setting up homes for themselves, 
take the bride to the father’s to live. The 
bride becomes a servant, waiting upon her 
husband’s parents in life and burning incense 
to their spirits after death. 
lific families, in time, become numerous 
: Shotak to form a village among themselves. 
Filial piety, that trait for which the: Chi- 


7LW = 


In this way pro- — 


——o 


THAT STOPPED THE FIGHT INSTANTER, THE 
QUEUELESS COOLIE MAKING STRAIGHT 
FOR THE PROPER PLACE TO REPORT 
THE LOSS OF HIS QUEUE. 






nese are noted, has its reverse side, and not 
only is the child to respect, obey, and vener- — 
ate his parents while alive and worship them — 
when dead, but the father has the supreme — 
right of life and death over the child, and 
may punish him to death without being 
amenable to law. Such a case came under 
my personal observation. 

While I conducted a free tas 20: 
the Methodist Church in Peking, China, I 
had as a patient an elderly man who, before 
well enough to be discharged, received word 
that a son had been caught red-handed with 
others in a robbery where murder had been — 
done. It was sad enough and hard enough 
to learn of the son’s degeneracy, but it was 
made still harder by the knowledge that he 
himself would soon be traced and compelled 
to go to prison, and in all probability be the 
victim of capital punishment for the mis- 
deeds of the son. — =e : 

The paternal government reasons that had 
the father brought up the son in the way he 
should g0, the would not have fallen into evil 


company and into. crime. 

For this failure to train the son always to 
travel in the paths of right and virtue, he, 
‘poor old man, must a his failure and 



















time with fe life. The law goes 
er, compelling witnesses, in cer- 
ases, al be incarcerated. 
A good many people do not know that the 
queue as worn by Chinese men and the 
shaving of the rest of the head are badges 
subjection to the present Tatar or 
hu dynasty. To do otherwise is a sign 
s ion, except in’ the case of priests, 
as a sign of mourning. In the former 
there is no hair, and in the latter there is no 
at all. Every other man without a 
i egistered. 


Sad * Fon-Zrmed An,” the “Flying Tiger.” 

One summer we were having some build- 
i , and I had often noticed an elderly 

cool: who had a diminutive queue fastened 
= to his head by so few hairs they could have 
been easily counted. One day he and an- 

2 other coolie got into a fight, each making a 

: grab for the other’s queue. The one belong- 

~ing to my ancient friend came off in the 
hands of his antagonist. That stopped the 

fight instanter, the queueless coolie making 
straight _ for the proper place to report the 
loss of his queue. 

- The autumn before the outbreak of the 
as Boxer ‘War I had been unable, one day, to 
attend the dispensary myself, and had sent 

_my- student-assistant in my stead. Young 
- Mr. Wang was a very intelligent, shrewd, 
and “unusually nervy Chinese, who, the fol- 

lowing year became a martyr to his faith, 
suffering a cruel death at the hands of the 
a Boxers. 

“While conducting the dispensary that day, 
a soldier passed along the great street. See- 
‘ing the sign above the door of the street 
chapel which was in front of the dispensary, 
he called out to the passers-by: “Ah, here 
is a foreign devil’s place; let's go in and 
clean him out. The Empress Dowager 
wants us to kill them all, anyway.” 

pagers The mob made an attack upon the street 
~ chapel, but were vigorously met by Mr. 

Wang and my man of all work, Mr. An, 

who was also a sort of constable. An was 

‘a powerful man, tall and muscular, like so 
“many of the northern Chinese, and before 
his acceptance of Christianity had been one 
of the most notorious all-round toughs in the 
; vicinity, having earned the sobriquet “ flying 
tiger, iron-armed An.” These two, by their 
: action, dispersed the crowd and 
the soldier, taking him to the yamen 
~of ‘the district magistrate. This same magis- 




















Sens 
















* 














a lesson. 





tine had come to teach 
= ing upon a 
to a An et “No 





THE LIVE. WIRE. SS ee 


‘lead to more serious results than thi { 
dent fortunately did. Be een 


e had long ignored our rights, and I felt 






sit to h s yamen, ={=said== 
when I ae thes, how 


reply, which meant, to use a slang expres- 
“tear things wide open.” — 


sion, that I must 


So I prepared to “tear.” 





Calling a cart, Mr. An and I started on 


our punitive expedition, Preceding my 
“man Friday,” I passed into the first court, 
and, seeing no one, I called out for the gate- 
keeper: Two underlings, one from either 
side, rushed out upon me and attempted to 
eject the intruding foreign devil, but he re- 
sisted. A vigorous shove with both arms 
freed me from the ejectors, and before they 
could recover themselves I was well into the 
inner court. 

My. “hello” 
scene of the outer court. In addition, how- 
ever, there stepped out a tall, elderly gentle- 
man with long, flowing white beard who, 
with the courteous suavity of a Chinese 
gentleman, respectfully inquired my business. 
He was informed that I wished to see the 
magistrate. He regretted it exceedingly, but 
he was pained to have to humbly inform my 
most honorable self that his chief was not 
in, but being next in command, would the 
honorable foreign gentleman accept his poor 
and unworthy services and hospitality? All 
is not gold that glitters, and I very well 
knew diplomacy and nothing else was behind 
this humble form of speech. Inside, he was 
no doubt mentally reviling me and all my 
ancestors back to Adam and Eve. 

Accepting his invitation, we entered a 
small room, and over the indispensable cup 
of tea, I gave vent to my long pent-up irriti 
tion. Relating the occurrences of the pre-— 
vious day, I said: 


Three Days in the Pillory. 


“This is not the only act of discourtesy 
and insult at the hands of your chief, for 
his attitude ever since he has been in office 
has been to slight us and disobey the man- 
dates of his superiors. He is the only officer 
in their great city who has failed to post 
the proclamation of the governor of the city 
calling pon the people to pay no attention 
to the rumors regarding the foreigners, and 
to treat them with courtesy and respect. By 
his action of yesterday in allowing that sol- 
dier to go free and unpunished, he has put — 
a premium upon such conduct which ji 


~“ Now, I do not want to take this me 
to the American minister, for that would 





T believe we can aie this ‘matter. ourselves, 
ee tere are two thin st demand: 
Ss 


brought a fepetition of the 





= % 
= 


é 


ODD THINGS THAT THE CHINAMAN’S LAWS MAKE HIM DO. 97 








SEEING THE SIGN ABOVE THE DOOR OF THE STREET CHAPEL WHICH WAS IN FRONT OF THE 


DISPENSARY, HE CALLED OUT TO THE PASSERS-BY: “AH, HERE IS A FOREIGN 
DEVIL'S PLACE; LET’S GO up sup CLEAN HIM OUT.” 





= = 
+ : 











stating his offense and warning the people 

to conduct themselves with propriety. 

= “Second, that the proclamation referred to 
“must be posted at our gates as ordered; all 

ef she must be fulfilled by high noon on 






esas de Ee considerable protest at the de- 
* mands, but knowing that in all probability 








THE fe WIRE. 


party of us started from our summer homes  —~ 
to a famous old temple for a picnic. It was ~ 
some six or seven miles west, our donkey- 
trail skirting along the mountainside two — 
hundred feet above the great Peking plain. 
The party consisted mostly of women and 
children.~ Being the only one on horseback, 
I took the lead on returning. In some way 


HE WAS CHAINED TO THE FRONT OF OUR PREMISES FOR THREE DAYS, FROM MORNING TILL 
EVENING, WITH A PLACARD ABOVE HIS HEAD STATING HIS OFFENSE AND WARN- 
ING THE PEOPLE TO CONDUCT THEMSELVES WITH PROPRIETY, 


they had made provision for some such 
occurrence, I knew I was not asking an im- 
possibility. These demands were all met, and 

with avery salutary effect upon the inhab- 
heen itants of that quarter of the city. 





noes 
ally. nae (oF the ad ee of 
= those under their jurisdicti 

' Saturday 
hs, when it 


during the hot summer 
ecomes ae to sake 


eee 01 





ae incident brought me in contact 


I took the wrong path, and came squarely 
out on the parade-ground of a garrison, 
where a fair had attracted many villagers. 
This particular place had an unsavory 

reputation, and only a short time before an 
American gentleman connected with the’ z 
legation had been<forced to show the butt —_ 
of his revolver to command respect and to 
pass tnmolested.~ I recalled that just beyond : 

the outer edge of the parade-gi 
dry bed of what in the rainy season was a 






_mountain torrent, affording | too many con- 


veniently sized rocks for a crowd upon mis- 
chief bent. Handing my baby daughter to 
a gentleman of our party, I urged him to 











et 


- get the ladies and children past the place 
while I held the increasing crowd back. 

I realized that we would be very fortunate 
if we got across that spot without some one 
getting hurt. I kept my horse headed toward 
the crowd to cut off any should they attempt 
to get around me, and as soon as I knew my 
party were safely across this torrent’s bed, 

turned and spurred after them. <A large 
rock at once came hurtling through my sun- 
umbrella, striking me a blow upon the shoul- 
der-blade that nearly unhorsed me. I soon 
dispersed the crowd, and was again with my 
friends. A few belated boulders were 
thrown at us, but no one was hurt. 

Our party being on donkeys, we had given 
our picnic paraphernalia, cameras, rugs, and 
so forth to the donkey-boys who followed 
leisurely a mile or so behind us. When they 
reached the barracks they were very prompt- 
dy waylaid and relieved of all our possessions. 

The following Monday, in company with 
a colleague, I waited upon the magistrate of 
that district, who met us in a very lofty and 
disdainful manner, as if he were sorely de- 
filed by having to come in contact with white 

“men. We soon brought him to earth, how- 
ever, and delivered our ultimatum. This 
was to the effect that in three days he must 
accomplish the arrest of the offenders, re- 
cover our stolen property, and post proclama- 
tions along the highway calling upon the 





people to conduct dienselves seward ‘us in 
a proper manner. We assured him that this: 


was the only course to prevent the matter- 
being referred to the Foreign Office through: ; 


our national representative. 
Three-days passed and nothing was 
My card was sent to him with the “posit 


assurance that twenty-four hours was the 
The next day several cards — 


limit of grace. 
were brought to me by the gatekeeper 


stating that a number of Chinese gentlemen 
The callers proved 


were waiting to see me. 
to be the officer in command of the gar- 
rison, two or three officers of lesser rank, 
and elders from several of the ages ad- 
jacent to the garrison. They 





of both soldiers and villagers, but said they 
would make themselves personally respon- 


sible for the good conduct of both soldiers = 


and villagers in that neighborhood. 


The wonder was that they did not* pick 


done. : 







lared it 
would be impossible to detect the real cul-_ 
prits as the crowd was such a mixed one~ 












up a few poor friendless unfortunates, dress 


some of them as soldiers, and make scape- 
goats of them. They recovered the property 


of which our donkey-boys had been relieved, 


and the magistrate posted the proclamation 
as demanded. 


From that time until the disturbances of 


1900, even a foreign woman could pass that 


way without any unpleasant demonstrations. 





A CLERK WHO IS PAID NOT TO WORK. 


ance which must be suppressed. He sent 
for him and asked him what he meant by — 


N obscure French clerk has leaped into 
fame as the discoverer of about the 
easiest way of obtaining an income 
yet devised. Some years ago, says 

a Paris newspaper, this clerk inherited four 
thousand dollars which he turned into twen- 
ty bank-notes of two hundred dollars each. 
These he deliberately made as dirty and di- 
lapidated as he could. When he had reduced 
them to a thoroughly disreputable condition, 
so bad that they would not be accepted by 
the general public, he took them to the Bank 
of France. 
Under the French law, the Bank of France, 
which issues these bank-notes, is compelled 
to exchange old ones for new whenever 
- damaged notes are presented. In this case 
the bank alithorities made no objection and 


the clerk went off with twenty new bills. 
He reappeared the next day with twenty very 


dilapidated ones” and again insisted on his 
right to new ones. 


For three weeks the process was repeated 
every day. Then the governor of the bank | 
awoke ‘to the fact that the clerk was a nuis= 


to the proposition. Since then the n 


z eye He never was very fond of work, 


his extraordinary behavior. 


“That is my business,” replied the clerk. 


“T have a right to new bills and you must - 


give them to me at any time that I demand 
them.” 

“But don’t you know,” 
cial, “that every bank-note we give you costs 
us more than sixteen cents? You are cost- 
ing the bank three dollars and thirty-three 
cents a day with your nonsense.” 


“Precisely,” replied the clerk. “There- 


fore, I have a business proposition to make — 


to you. I will agree to stop selling notes if 
you will pay me three dollars a day. That i ‘is 
a clear profit of thirty-three cents for you, 
and it will save me quite a little | 
Should you decline to accept my propo 






retorted the offi-— 


I shall come to. the bank every day and in- = 


sist upon you 
There “was 


anging my notes.” 
ay out and the bank 


been diving. contentedly on his three — dollars 


greed 
1 has 











7 


SS people, listen to my tale, 
Although its theme be humble, 


And as ’tis of a tumbling man 
Do not refuse to tumble. 


Tim Tumbier when a child, ’tis said, 
Ere he had worn a bib, 

Amused himself right bumpily 
By tumbling from his crib. 


TRAVERS AS Wet 


And when in course of time he rose 


4} RNC en aeiaanse yeaah ime aaetytienae ni ccna 


To loftier affairs, 
He lowered himself speedily 
By tumbling down the stairs. 


N 
i 


Sever ie dey 


From childish bumps to youthful 
thumps 
He tumbled on his way 
’Till he became an acrobat, 
_ And twisted on for pay. 


His accidents were grave enough, 
But never worry gave, 
Though gravitation constantly 
Did pull him toward the grave. 


aS PHA aR OA UCR Rare 85 & RR | 


So though he had reverses, 
Yet still would he reverse, 

And always ’twixt the earth and sky 
Seemed looking for the hearse. 





TOE 2 a ase ils Tea. 


WREDT AT ALI: 


PAA E ead OR Pd 


#3 


5 ; Bova!) ce RIENDS » 
sig BBR HET SIVE ME A 
One common failing Tim possessed, 
Like many another such, 
With all his other deadly drops 
He took a “drop too much.” 


To all his friends’ entreaties 
He was only deaf, alas! 
He said: “A social tumbler 
Ought to take a social glass.” 
pit Tm swore off when once he 
= found 
That drink his course would mar; / 
He’d rather keep his lofty place 
Than be a fallen “star.” 


So on the rings each night he dared 
The gravitation law, 

Sir Isaac Newton’s theory 
He gave the loud haw haw. 


But gravitation won at last 
And Tim’s career did check, 

He stumbled off his porch one night 
And broke his blooming neck. 


MORAL. 


The Irony of Fate’s a thing 
That’s never been exploded; 
One goes through wars and then 
shot 


By a gun that wasn’t loaded. 



















. OCKS” SHANGLISS rested one 
foot on a pile of tailings and cast 
a sardonic grin at the scene about 
him. The North Pole claim was 
seme jumped by a crew of forty men, led by 
James Creel and Martin Gibson, well-known 
mining men of Nome, and of shadowy repu- 
tations. 
= Having failed to secure the claim by peace- 
~ able methods, on the ground of prior loca- 
— tion, they had brought over their hirelings 
: from No. 8 Anvil Creek. At the par- 
== ticular moment of Rocks’s grin the jumpers 
z were dragging Odeberg’s, the owner’s, shack 
and mine office away from its foundation by 
- -- meatis of a long chain, which they had 
-. fastened about the small structure. 

‘With the men who now swarmed over the 
---sluice-boxes and diggings of the North Pole, 
Rocks’s figure made a striking contrast. In 
one hand he held the stub of a cigarette, 
which he occasionally put to his lips. 

Dressed in black trousers, clean but fraz- 
- gled at the bottoms, a red flannel shirt, 
about the collar of which was suspended a 
neat black string tie, ornamented by a nugget 
sti wearing around his waist a cow- 
s belt, with two holsters containing 






















of fire. 


: eee of strange — 
ae cee oo re ‘the Fe of the cotn- 


Poe 


— 


The jumpers had come well armed, but 
their taking possession of the claim was a 
quiet affair. Not a shot was fired. Jafet 
Odeberg was in town at the time, and his 
miners decided that it would be useless to 
attempt to Stand their ground against far 
superior numbers. 

Rocks found his own sitttation amusing. 
He had been one of Odeberg’s men, but 
when he saw the invaders approach, he had 
retired in good order to watch their opera- a 
tions without having to take a hand in the — 
affair. It was immaterial to him who owned - 
the claim, so long as he received his ten 
dollars a day and grub. Also, he despised 
Odeberg as an ignorant, uncouth Swede. ; 

Shangliss was a man of the world, and 
Alaska-bred: He knew, from years spent as 
a dealer of faro in Dawson, when the odds 
against him were too large. Retiring grace- 
fully, when honor was not involved, was one — 
of his long suits, and yet there was. ae 
yellow in him. 5 

His slender, womanish fingers were as 
agile in reaching for his guns as in dealing — 
the- paste-boards, and as sure. Men of the 
Northland who knew him by reputation, and ; = 
feared Be ede aus fearlcseees, ee in- 
















hes his blue eyes “narrowed to atant glints = 


rocks iy wate were now i full possession. : 


rive over the ‘bors z 





“ROCKS” 


He threw away his cigarette stub and 
straightened himself to meet them. 

“Are you one of-Odeberg’s men?” in- 
quired Creel suavely. Rocks looked the 
man over carefully, until the other grew 
impatient. 

ie—reckon = 1 
“What of it?” 

Creel’s eyes shifted from the minet’s flay- 
ing gaze, and he snapped out, as if address- 
ing Gibson: 

“Well, we don’t want you here any more.” 

“T had thought some about going right 
soon,” said Rocks, looking up at the bright 
sky as if to detect the trace of a lurking 
rainstorm. 

“You've got your nerve with you,” 
marked Gibson half admiringly. 

“Yes, I reckon I have. It’s my stock in 
trade,” returned the miner easily. 

“Who are you? Don’t you see that we 
are in possession of the. North Pole?” 
queried Gibson. 

He was not the coward that Creel was, 
but something in the stranger’s manner sug- 
gested that he had better avoid a quarrel 
with him. 

“Me?” said Rocks. “Oh, I’m Shangliss, 
commonly called Rocks, formerly of Daw- 
son—at your service, sir.” 

“Rocks Shangliss!” repeated Creel in- 
credulously. 

“Do you care to work here?” asked Gib- 
son hastily. 

“No, I don’t know that I do,” answered 
Shangliss smoothly. “I reckon this place 
might get some hot after a bit. - Much 
obliged, just the same, and now I'll bid you 
gentlemen good day.” 

He bowed extravagantly, and with a grim 
twist of his lips passed down the rocky 
‘path which led to the trail. Pulling a ciga- 
rette-paper from his pocket he proceeded to 
make a smoke for himself while he struck 
out along the trail between the foot-hills 
leading to Anvil Mountain and toward 
Nome. 

The day was fairly warm and the season 
advanced, but the tundra and hills were still 
sogey with the weight of water from the 
spring melting of the snow. Every “nig- 
ger-head ” oozed water in squirts at his step; 
each let his foot deep down into the rich 
brown soil, making the mushing difficult. 

Two miles from the North Pole claim, and 
opposite Anvil Mountain, Shangliss stopped 
short. A young woman, poorly dressed, 
confronted him. The only striking thing 
about her was her face—a delicate oval, with 
large black eyes and long lashes. In her 
eyes were great fear and anxiety. She 
spoke to Rocks eagerly, desperately. 

“Oh, Mike, they have jumped our claim. 


was,” returned Rocks. 


re- 


SHANGLISS, GAMBLER. 


103 


Are you going to help me get it back?” she 
asked. 

Shangliss’s eyes searched her face a mo- 
ment, noting the glad recognition there. 
None had called him “ Mike” for years. 
Mike—it had been Michael Shangliss. 

He thought she had forgotten him. It 
was long since the time that he had loved 
her, in the days up there in Dawson when 
he had dealt the cards at the faro-table. He 
had heard vague rumors that she had mar- 
ried a wealthy mining man; he never knew 
the name. . It had always been deep in his 
heart that she had married for money, and 
the disgust had been bitter. Since she had 
left Dawson, men had called him Rocks be- 
cause of the adamantine spirit he displayed 
toward the world. 

He looked into her face and laughed say- 
agely. 

“What's it to me if your claim has been 
jumped?” he asked. “You've got no call 
on me.” 

“Haven’t you been working for Jafet? 
Isn’t that call enough?” 

Rocks suddenly swore to himself. 

“Who is this Jafet?” he said. 

“My husband.” 

“What? That bent-over, scrubby-looking, 
ignorant lout, your husband? I never 
thought. you would marry such as him. I 
heard that you married for money—but, 
Lord, what a match! ” 

Her eyes flamed. 

“Have you anything else to say about . 
him?” she said. “I knew you for a gentleman 
in Dawson, but you seem to have lost that 
part of you. I asked you to help me as an 
old friend.” 

“To think that I have been working for 
that drunken old Swede,” muttered Rocks. 
“Tm fit for the bug-house.” 

Of Odeberg’s past history he knew little. 
The man himself, he thought, was enough. 

Jafet was a miserable specimen of man, a 
crooked bough of the forest; a dullard. His 
yellow hair ran riot over his big, red, stub- 
born, ignorant head. His speech was as halt- 
ing as a brook with countless curves. A 
curious whim it was of Mother Earth to 
unfold to him her golden riches. And Julia 
Roberts had married this man! 

“T couldn't say half enough about him,” 
began Shangliss roughly. “ But what’s the 
odds if he has lost the claim. He has lots of 
others.” 

“But he hasn’t,” returned the girl. The 
misery in her drowned her resentment of the 
man’s brutality. 

“He did have other claims, but he lost 
money on all of them. The North Pole 
was his last one. It’s everything we have— 
I and the boy.” 






he ae & «They told me they would 

. drive the jumpers off. I thought 

we ald help, too, If you promised, I 

You have no fear.” 

o~ ave an impatient hitch to his 
His blue eyes were slits, cold, 


ou “want me to apie: them all out 
ve the claim back to the Swede? You 
tisk my life for such as him? 

here. You took him, and he got a 
os he deserved. He ain't 





pade, and he ae half his time in 
ver Dollar. 


THE LIVE WIRE. 




























he deserves. I wouldn’t raise a hand to 
help him out of anything.” 2 

“Don’t then!” cried the woman in anger. 
“Don’t! I hate you! 2 
you loved me, but you are no better than he.” — 

“Be that as it may,” returned Shangliss — 
easily, watching the color flood the girl’s 
face as it did when he knew her in Dawson. 

He admired her courage, but the thought 
of Jafet as her husband was more than he 
could bear. He wouldn’t have cared so 
much had it been any other man, half-way 
worthy of her, he reflected, but Jafet, the 
Swede—he shook himself in disgust and pre- 
pared to move on. . 

“Go find your Jafet,” he said, “and tell 
him what I said about him. Tell him he 
ain’t fit to Jook you in the eyes. Think I’m ~ 
fool enough to help a man who took from 
me the only thing I cared about? Not me.” 

He stepped to one side of the girl and 
passed down the trail, striking off across the 
tundra toward Nome. 

Front Street, a strip of sand between two 


You said once that = 














tows of saloons, dance-halls, and stores, 
was alive with men. Near the bar of The 
Silver Dollar, Rocks heard some men talking 
about the jumping of the North Pole. 
“Yafet was in here an hour ago,” said 
one of them. “He seems plumb crazy—out 
of his head. Wandered out of here like a 
streak o’ lightning, and left his kid over 
there for the barkeep to watch until he got 
back. Some say he won’t come back.” 
“Yes,” responded the other. “I heard it 
said he was likely to kill himself. Anyway, 
he’s nothing but a blamed Swede.” 
_ Shangliss peered about the room and spied 
‘a little curly haired lad sitting on a chair by 
one of the tables. The boy was wonderfully 
like his mother, the gambler thought, with 
the exception of the yellow hair. 


He was calmly surveying the crowd of 


men who elbowed their way through to the 
bar and laughed*and joked together, glasses 


in hand. -Now and then his: eyes ‘turned to 


the back room, from whence came the sound 
ees falling” chips and the cl nk of money. 
The ae Hee his way over to ‘the 








him up to the bartender, to whom he spoke 

















‘ pens > ee “ 

THE GAMBLER MADE HIS WAY OVER TO] - 

THE BOY AND TOOK A CHAIR => 
OPPOSITE HIM, Sa 








“What's your name, lad?” he asked, 
“ Jafet,” said the boy quietly. 

Shangliss recoiled from the sound of the 
word he loathed. For a moment he studied 
the boy’s open face, and then the sweet re- 
semblance of the lad to his mother softened 
his voice and glance as he spoke ae 

“How old are you?” 

“ Bight.” : 

ay aoe your daddy?” jesse 

“T don’t know. He went away and told See 
me to wait here.” ete 

“Like your daddy?” asked the gambler : 
quickly. eae 
“T like mother better.” See 

“Good common sense. 
mother?” 

“Yes. I’m tired of staying here.” 

“All right, boy.. Come with me.’ 

Shangliss took him by the hand and fed 





Want to see your 





a few words. The latter nodded and Shang- 
liss took his charge out of the saloon. = 
“Nice ‘place that, for a ‘Aid ft 
in,’ he ~soliloquized. — 
Curse. his” agiow hide. 









— 





anything! 


Saale of wood. She. married him for his 
: “money—heard he'd made a big strike—and 


now see what he is. Married him when she 
might have had a man who would have done 
Oh, well, that’s the way with a 
woman. When they get -what they want 
they ain’t satisfied with it.” 


- - Stopping a man whom he knew, Shangliss 
requested the loan of his horse and offered 


payment for it. The animal was promptly 
turned over, for Shangliss was known to be 
a oman of his word. Rocks mounted, 


~ swung the boy up to the saddle in front of 


his way along Anvil Creek. 


him and set out over the tundra, his keen 
“eyes sweeping the brown vastness before 


z him. 


“You never can tell what a Swede is going 
to do next,” he went on to himself. “If he 


once gets off his head he’s likely to run 


_amuck right along. And yet she asked me— 
me—to save the claim for him. She 
-wanted me to face fortysarmed men for the 
sake of his worthless hide. 
he'll be crazy enough to shoot. himself, or 
maybe her, too, and then what'll the kid 
do?” ya! 

= He patted the boy’s head and reflected si- 
-lently as he rode on. Finally, the boy be- 
came talkative and spoke of his mother and 
of mining, and of what he intended to do 
when he grew up. He spoke of everything, 
Shangliss noticed, except his father. The 
sound,of the lad’s voice was strangely like 
that of his mother’s; it moved Shangliss in 
a way he did not like, and yet in a way he 
could not resist. 

He had no reason to give for what he was 
about to do, nor did he ,care to give any. 
Tt was as if some unseen force pushed him 

on. 

With a start he suddenly awoke to a sense 
of his whereabouts. He was getting too 
near the cabin of the Odebergs. Guiding 
his horse off the muddy road he let him pick 

If Jafet Ode- 


- berg had gone anywhere he knew he would 





e in the neighborhood of Anvil and Little 
Creeks, where he had been prospecting for 
new ground. 

‘They were nearing a branch of Anvil 

—Creek, a tiny stream which fought its way 
through stubby willows toward the foot-hills, 


-when Shangliss drew in his horse with a - 
jerk. He had seen something on the tundra 


near the creek, half- hidden among the wil- 
lows. 


Dismounting, ue aes: the boy stand by 


the horse until he came back. He did not 
wish the lad to see what he feared the wil- 
: ~ lows would reveal. 


- Waiking forward he- pushed. She. willows 


aside. The dead face of Jafet Odeberg 


: stared. 7 him, a bullet-bole through chis 





If I don’t do it’ 


= ae 
THE LIVE WIRE. 


forehead. ‘The man’s hair was matted with 
blood and the brown of the tundra. His 
right hand still clutched the butt of his 
revolver. 

Letting the bushes flap back into place, 
Shangliss ‘returned slowly to the horse. 
“Let him rot where he is,” he muttered. 
“It’s good enough for him. Poor little 
kid, it’s tough on you.” 

He lifted the lad into the saddle tenderly 


and mounted after him. As he rode off to-_ 


ward the North Pole claim his face was un- 
pleasant to see. The lines of his mouth 
were drawn tense and the blue eyes glinted 
danger signals. 

Carelessly, paying no heed to the men 
who warned him to halt, Shangliss rode 
on to the North Pole, holding Jafet, Jr., on 
the saddle. He dismounted at the mine- 
office, tied the horse to a post, opened the 
door of the office and pushed the boy in. 

When Shangliss entered he shut the door 
calmly behind him and faced Creel and Gib- 
son. The two men stared at the gambler in 
silence, and Gibson fingered his revolver. 

“Better not,” warned Shangliss, noticing 


the action. “I’m some handy with those | 
things myself. Besides, I only want to talk 
to you.” 


“What have you got to say?” growled 
Gibson. 

He loosened his hold on his oul and 
lighted a cigar. Creel was plainly nervous. 

“First place, this meeting’s between us, 
see?” began Shangliss. “No butting in. 
If any one knocks at the door you’re not at 
home to them until I have had my say. You 
know me—Rocks Shangliss, gambler, sure 
shot, man of his word. Are you agreed?” 

“What in—”’ broke in Creel, but Gibson 
silenced him. 

“Tl do the talking,” he said. 
Rocks, Speak your speech.” 

“Do you see this kid here?” asked Shang- 
liss, holding the boy forward, his eyes wide 
open, trusting the big man behind him. 
“This kid,” continued the gambler, “is 
Odeberg’s “boy. Jafet is—” 


“Go on, 


to his head, so that the boy would not under- 
stand. “Catch? Back there on Anvil.” 
The men across the table nodded. For a 


moment it seemed that they were abashed at 
this result of their jumping the North Pole. 


“Down by Anvil,” reiterated Shangliss, 1s: 
a little cabin with a young woman in it wait- 


‘ing for Jafet and her kid to come home. One 


of ‘em will never come. I ain’t saying any- 


thing for Jafet—he was a blamed Swede, es 
ignorant, 


‘worthless; a plumb misit—I'’m 
speaking about the woman and the boy. This 


-claim’s s all she’s got—she and the kid. What - 


is. she to do. now?” 





Shangliss 
stopped in time and motioned with his hand ~ 


2 





“Same as—”. began Creel. Shangliss 
started forward with an oath and slammed 
his fist on the table in front of the man. 

ae Not another word of that, you!” he 
said, “or I’ll make you eat it, I asked you 


civilly: what will she do?” 
“T don’t see as that is our lookout, Shang- 

liss,” 
“Don’t see it, 


returned Gibson with a placid air. 
eh? Well, I do. You've 






“ROCKS” SHANGLISS, GAMBLER, 


“What do you think is right?” he asked. 

“Twenty-five per cent royalty from the 
North Pole and a written contract, same | ag 
if you'd taken a lay on the claim,” replied mS 
Shangliss. 

“Not a cent! Not a red cent, I say!’ z 
shouted Creel, rising to his feet, purple with 
rage. Gibson pulled him to his seat. 

“None of that, Jim.” Then he fied to. 





BEFORE HE COULD SEE HOW IT WAS DONE TWO GUNS HAD LEAPED INTO SHANGLISS’S HANDS aes =e mee 


HELD EACH OF THE MEN COVERED. Se 


jtmped her only claim. She and the kid 
_ have got to starve; or, as this gentleman 
started to remark, she’s got to join a dance- 

hall. You jumped the claim, and it ain’t 

yours. You know it. I came here to ask 


you what you're going to do for her and 


- the kid. ~ How much are you going to 


give?” ‘ 


; a modically as he strove to master his tongue. 


He -was incarnate greed of the gold-dust — 


ae = only; he knew nothing of the finer instincts, 
Gibson was hard, merciless almost, a 





= some would have called pees of = 





The lines of Creel’s face worked spas- - 





grimly. 
x possessed ‘that grain of diploma’ y which 





“T'll answer you to-morrow, — 
I don’t know what this ground’s — 


‘the gambler. 
Rocks. 
worth.” _ 

“Not to-morrow, Gibson, but right now. 
I want the contract made up = here- and 
now.” 

“Then there is nothing doing, 
Gibson coolly. : ae 

peter he could see =tion it was s done two 


” returned 





aa ‘Nothing doi g “eh?” aan Sianeli 

“Well, I reckon you'd better change ~ 
your mind. Put up your hands, Cree’ 
dead sure with these. You'd 
TOS: “up, too, Gibson. Tt 








x 








i 


and lay ’em 





THE 





THERE WAS A QUICK STRAIGHTENING OF TWO FORMS AND THE SHARP 


SNAP OF TWO GUNS. 


He moved oyer to see that the hands came 
up empty. Then he turned to the boy: 
“Come on, kid. Take the guns from these 


: z men and lay them on the table.” 


The boy, accustomed to obedience, picked 

up Gibson’s weapons, which rested upon his 

_ lap, and laid them on the place indicated. 
Then, at Rocks’s direction, he found Creel’s 
“guns and put them along with the others. 


_ Shangliss removed the guns to a chair, keep- 


ing the men covered all the time. 
* Now, yout two can take down your hands 
fon the table,” he remarked 
suavely. “And you, Gibson, send for your 
head man here and tell him that a marshal’s 
posse is after you, and that you've decided to 
abandon the claim. By the bye, I might tell 
you that I did take steps toward getting a 
posse, and the fellows in Nome took right 
smart to the idea. They ought to be here 
pretty quick with plenty of guns. The mar- 
shal ain’t none too fond of you, you know.” 
“Curse you!” sud Gibson, clenching his 
fist. i 
“The same to you,” replied Shangliss. 
“You had a chance to do the square thing, 
and you wouldn’t take it. Now it’s up to 
you to do as I remark. Hurry up and call 
that foreman.” z 
_ Gibson called from the door, and when 
the man ¢ 










‘imine and come back before the 
ame in response to his summons, — 


he gave orders that his 
crew should leave the 
claim at once. Then 
he returned to  his- 
chair and fell to smo- 
king violently. 

Shangliss waited un- 
til he was sure the last 
man had left the dig- 
gings. Then he spoke: 

“Now you two fel- 
lows are going to 
mush over toward the 
marshal’s office with 
me, so’s to be sure we 
meet him.” 

“Not that, - Shang- 
liss. Not that, for 
Heaven’s sake!” cried ~ 
Creel. 

“ Hither that or your 
promise to clear out 
of this country just as 
quick as you can_ hit 


the willows.” : 
said 


“Tl! take you,” 
Gibson quietly. 

“And I,” muttered 
Creel. 


“Good!” laconically 
from Shangliss. 
“Make yourselves 
scarce then before the posse gets here and 
it’s too late.” 

He watched the men vanish in the direc- 
tion of the Kougarok foot-hills. Then he 
turned to the boy beside him. 

“Could you find your way home alone, if 
I showed you where to go, kid?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes. I used to come over here all 
by myself to mect father.” 

“Well, you run straight home and tell 
your mother to get some men and come here 
as quick as she can. Tell her to hurry.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Now, what are you to tell her?” 

“Y’m to tell her to bring some men and 
come here as quick as she can.” 3 
“That’s right, my little man. And tell 
her that Rocks—that’s my name, you know— 

tell her Rocks is here.” 

Tt was mid-afternoon, and Shangliss fig- 
tred that the boy should reach his mother in 
two hours. Locking the door behind him, 
he looked about the claim, only to find that. 
the other shacks were empty. He closed 
them all, barricading the doors firmly. Then 
he returned to the wooden shanty which he 
had left, and, entering, barricaded ‘its door 


from the inside. — 


“Tf they get suspicious about that yarn of 
kid gets — 
“this will be 





there,” 


he said to himself, 





2 Sa Oe eo 
pretty -good shelter. Good arsenal, too.” 
He ran his fingers over the guns lying on 
the chair. 

“Rum go, anyway,” he muttered, and fell 
to staring dreamily out of the window at the 
reddening sky. “It only goes to show that 
what I said is true. A fellow like Odeberg 
don’t know anything. She don’t need -him, 
aftyway, and he’s better off where he is— 
better off for the kid, too. He wasn’t worth 
saving, not worth the risk.” 

Hour after hour passed leadenly by and 
still Rocks held undisputed possession of the 
North Pole. With his chair tipped back 
against one wail of the shack and away from 
the window, he smoked innumerable ciga- 
rettes, flicking the yellow ends of them onto 
the floor. 

To each slight noise his ears were alert. 
Twice he rose to peer out of the window 
across the tundra, lighted by the arctic sur; 
but each time resumed his seat nonchalantly. 
At half past seven he glanced at his watch 
and wondered why his party had not come. 
Finally, he opened the door cautiously and 
looked out. The sluice-boxes stood to his 
left, and at their feet was the soft gurgle of 
running water from the morning’s sluicing. 

As he followed their outlines in the cool 
haze of the evening he thought he saw a 
shadow dart behind the hoist. Revolver in 
hand he crept out of the cabin, locking the 
door as he went, and slipped around to its 
rear, where he crouched on the ground to 
watch. 

Two, three, four minutes passed, aad 
then he saw a man’s head appear from the 


SHANGLISS, GAMBLER. 


109 


rear of the hoist, followed by the intrader’s 
body. Rocks’s sinuous form wormed itself 
around the house, keeping carefully con- 
cealed. Often he peered about him to see 
whether there were more men on the claim, 
but there was nothing in sight. Evidently 
it was Gibson or Creel who had ventured 
back to take in the lay of the ground. 

Suddenly, Shangliss’s heart bounded high. 
Across the tundra he could make out the 
forms of a number of men and one woman 
coming toward the North Pole. Julia was 
coming to claim her own. 

The stealing figure was working itself for- 
ward, lying flat on the ground. Rocks could 
see the glimmer of a gun in the man’s hand. 
Ten, twenty paces more the man came, 
Rocks allowing him that much. 

Then Shangliss crept back to the front of 
the shack, where he could see the man more 
plainly. As he was about to stoop to gain 
the shelter of two barrels, the gambler’s foot 
slipped and his body .shot out into view be- 
fore the shack. 

There was a. quick straightening of two 
forms and the sharp snap of two guns. 
Two puffs of blue smoke lingered on the 
motionless air, and then, with a sob, Rocks 
Shangliss sank to the ground, his finger 
pressing the trigger of his gun. 

They found him later, Mrs. Odeberg and 
her party of armed men. Rocks lay curled 
up as if in slumber. From his head a small 
pool of crimson ran down to meet the wa- 
ter from the sluice-boxes. A few yards be- 
yond lay Creel, his face set stiffly to the red 
sky, dead. 





WHAT MAKES 


S there any recipe for human happiness? 
Various individuals at various times have 
told the world how they think the dish ought 
to be made, but the world has always been 
somewhat skeptical. Count Tolstoy, the great 
Russian philosopher, thinks that only five 
things are necessary to happiness, and all of 


these five are within the reach of nearly 


CARNOT. 
1. Health. 
2. An independent condition. 
3. A taste for work. 


4. The esteem of worthy people. 

5. Love of society. 

6. Talent. 

7. A knowledge of business. 

8. Moderation. : 
9. A tendency to aid the unfortunate. 

10. Companionship of an amiable woman. 


MEN -HAPPY2 


every one. On the other hand, Carnot, the 
grandfather of the French president who 
was murdered in 1804, insisted that there 
were ten necessary ingredients, some of 
which cannot be secured by any but the 
gifted and the wealthy. A comparison of 
the lists compiled by the two men is inter- 
esting and suggestive. 


TOLSTOY. 


t. Natural life in the open air, with intimate 
connection with: earth, its plants and 
animals, 

2, Physical labor. 
and sleep. 

3. Simple, affectionate family life. 

4. Free and familiar intercourse with your 
fellow men. 

5. Health and a natural, painless death. - 


bringing good appetite 


eect, 


LIVE WIRE WISDOM. 


STRENGTH GAINED IN STRUGGLE. 





THE LIVE WIRE. 


RUE victory in life is not always in attain- 
in the strength gained in the 


= 


ment but 


struggle. 
Opposition should inspire us," not dishearten us. 


Birds fly best against the wind. 
Plants grow most in the darkest hour. 
What seems a trial or sorrow unbearable may be 


the preparation and entrance to greater privileges, 
higher powers, and larger possibilities. 


ud 4 
‘ 





rs 


Aci 


bu, malt 


ERE’S a task for a man—to write 
about a summer opera, two months 
in advance of the magazine’s pub- 
lication, when only the Lord and 

Weather Prophet De Voe know whether 
said opera will at that time be going full 
blast or reposing quietly amid the moth- 
balls of the storage warehouse. 

But after my happy sttoke of forecast in 

connection with London. and “The College 
Widow,” which stayed there only four 
‘weeks (please see page 846 of the June 
Live Wire), I am going to take a chance at 
“The Gay Musician” by treating it as if 
the expectations of its promoters had al- 
feady been lived up to. 

Whether Walter Percival will live; in case 
the piece does, is 
an open question. 
In all my stage 
viewing, I never 
saw such a_ busy 
person. One 
would think he 
bore the whole 
literal weight of 
the production on 
his shoulders. I 
confess I liked 
him much better 
as his real self, 
minus the mus- 
tache and the 
French accent, 
when he was with 
Fritzi Scheff in 
*“Mile. Modiste.” But, of course, he is en- 
-_joying his present rdle ten times as much. 

It is his firmly wedged ambition, as he 
confided to me some three years ago, to 
play an old man, and of course, a gummed- 
on mustache and a French accent are 





WALTER PERCIVAL’S FINE 
DENTAL DISPLAY. 


- mile-stones in the road leading to that goal. 


The mustache is not big enough to hide 
Mr. Percival’s generous supply of very 
white teeth, and when he makes love to 
Amelia Stone—as he must do pretty fre- 


quently in the course of the performance— 


the dental display is fairly dazzling, for 


“Miss Stone is no laggard in the care of a 


particularly fine set of biters, 


8 LW 


Sets 





Sha 


hews white. yO, 


When those of us who recalled these 
facts in respect to these two players, first 
realized that they were now to be brought 
together on the same stage for the fi “st 








time, we held our programs ready to shield = 


our eyes from the blinding glare of ivory. 


Next to the teeth of Walter and Amelia, — 


the most impressive thing about the cast 
of “The Gay Musician” is the cock-sure- 
ness of Miss Sophie Brandt. 
feaze that young -~woman with a writ “of 


attachment on any of her belongings, save 


her glove-fitting gowns. and her voice. 
How she must revel in that duet of anger 
called “Take That!” But she is as good — 
in this show as she was in “A Waltz 
Dream,” and I predict will be in great de-— 
mand from now x 
on by managers 
of musical come- 
dies. 
Martha George, 
of whom I had 
never previously 
heard, does good 
work as a virago 
of a mother-in- 
law gifted with a 
Dutch comedian 
dialect. I under- 
stand that she 
was handed the 
role after Mme. 
Neuendorff had 
declined it  be- 
cause of a scene 
requiring her to wear the short skirts of a 
circus rider. 
these lines, that incident may be cut out. 
Never have I seen better illustrated the 
inability to tell in advance how what looks 
well on paper will go on the boards than in 
this particular episode. From the line of 
talk you realize that Marie’s mother, who 
weighs all of two hundred and has belonged 
to the circus in her youth, is going to don 
once more the habiliments of the ring in 
order to recall youthful days to her lover 
of long ago, “just, returned from sea. 
“That is going to be very funny,” 
tell yourself. = S e a 


You couldn't pS 





BUT HE HASN'T GOT ANYTHING 
ON AMELIA ee 


By the time you are reading 


you 











_ the 
tea, as set forth in 


“supposed to be on 


—topaca |: 


The 


cups of tea— 


Schoolboy 


~ sician,’ 


112 


these unpleas- 


But lo and behold, when the buxom lady 
emerges clad in pink tarleton and_ skips 


about the ‘stage, it is not a bit funny, only 


unintentionally pathetic, and was so ad- 
versely commented on at Wallack’s that, as 
I said, it may be cut out by now. 

I wish somebody would explain to. me 
dire dreadful- 
ness of being com- 
pared with a cup of 


Miss Stone’s song 
of that title. It is 


the order of -the 
0p lyric in 
“The Mikado,” 
which told of the 
bores one meets in 
daily life, ending 
up with the refrain, 
“Tye Got Him on 
List "—to be 
boiled in oil. But 
to sing that 


ant folk are 


well, that’s one 
on me. 
I had the 


with me, at 
“The Gay Mu- 
’ and as 
we came away 
he spoke of a 
character in 
the show that 
seemed to him 
quite superflu- 


ous, like the 
fifth wheel to ’ OF 
a wagon. 


“There was one in ‘A Knight for a 
Day, too, don’t you remember?” he added. 

I did, and it set me wondering whether 
a great deal of useless gray matter, not to 
mention salary envelopes, was not expended 
in inventing another character merely to 
pair him or her off with somebody else at 
the end. This pairing off is not necessary 
except in the light of tradition, a com- 
modity which has proved itself to be no 
longer a box-office winner. 

Speaking of box-office winners, — 
Wolf” confounded the critics by increasing 
in popularity from week to week. Young 
Eugene Walter certainly has ‘ 


parently great stumbling block to the 
dramatist—the play that follows his first 
big hit. Milton Royle didn’t do it with 


THE LIVE WIRE 




















JAMES FORBES IS GLEEFUL OVER HAVING GRADUATED FROM 
PRESS-AGENT TO PLAYWRIGHT, WHICH HAS ENABLED HIM, 
OUT OF ACCRUED ROYALTIES, TO POSSESS HIMSELF 


A BIG COLLIE AND AN ANGORA CAT. 


“The 


"arrived ” ine 
being able to make good®with that ap- 


“The Struggle Everlasting,” nor did Ed- 
ward Peple with “The Silver Girl,” nor 


Rachel Crothers with “The Coming of Mrs, - 


Patrick.” 
The New York verdict is 


registered on “The Traveling Salesman” 
by James Forbes, 


whose “Chorus Lady” 
knocked ’em_ silly, 
as they say on the 
Rialto when they 
mean just the re- 
verse —that is to 
say, when a play 
makes you pat 
yourself on the back 
as a keen judge of 
a good thing. 
There is this in 
common between 
Walter and Forbes 
—both were press- 
agents. Forbes 
was with Savage 
when he first 
brought his 
Castle Square 
Opera Com- 
pany into the 
American 
Theater and 
between times 
of doping out 
stories about 
the singers, 
and wonder- 
ing whether 
they would 
stand for them 
after they 
were printed, 
he wrote all- 
fiction yarns 
for the maga- 
zines about 


paper people nobody need stand for but ~ 


himself. 
Rose Stahl saw one of these, gaged its 


possibilities for vaudeville, and hunted: up— 


the author, whom she was amazed to dis- 
cover was an assistant manager to Henry 
B. Harris, for Forbes had by now graduated 
to this estate. The rest was easy. 
Forbes has his bank roll, a big collie, and 
an Angora cat. ; 

No such string of roses bordered the 
pathway of Eugene Walter to ‘success. 
Hailing from Cleveland, where he was at 
one time on a newspaper, he served as 
sergeant for a while in the regular army, 
then came to New 


army of reporters that go up and down the 
streets of the big city in search of what they 


still to be~ 


Now. 


; ew York to fight his way up 
in the other and much more long-suffering 


a 


‘Bryant Park on which 


in “Rupert of Hent- 


beset by the fear that 


was playing both parts. 





> 


can devour in the way of queer happenings 
the record of which won't all vanish under 


- the blue-pencil of the city editor. 


belongs the bench in 
Walter slept for 
two nights in default of any other shelter, 
and which is only two blocks distant from 


To this period 


the -shower-bath-in-every-apartment hotel, 
where ‘Walter now luxuriates, with a 
private secretary at his beck and call. “The 


Wolf” no longer howls at his door, for all 
his bills are “ Paid in Full.” 

T hear that James Hackett made a lot of 
money with his stock company work in 
Washington this summer. He certainly 
deserves it, if passing through a hard winter 
entitles one to a soft snap during the hot 
term. I have known him for years and he 
is a good fellow, but being the son of an 
actor, he has the idiosyncrasies of the whole 
bunch, prominent among which is the lack 
of a sense of humor. 

A player who possesses this in rich 
abundance—possibly because she is the’ first 
one of her family to go 
on the stage—is Rose 
Stahl. Here is a sample, 
witnessed by a member 
of the Hackett Theater 
staff during the long 
term of “The Chorus 
Lady” there winter be- 
fore last. Miss Stahl 
was with a friend when 
she presented herself at 
the office to receive her 
weekly share of the re- 
ceipts. The two had 
evidently been talking 
of their physical ills, 
and as the check was 
handed over to her 
Miss Stahl passed the 
slip of paper back and 
forth across her fore- 
head with the remark: 
“Tt takes away all head- 
ache, my dear. There is 
nothing else like it.” 

But to go back from 
Hackett, the theater, to 
Hackett, the actor. 
While he was starring 


zau,’ the sequel to 
“The Prisoner of Zen- 
da,” he was constantly 


the people out front — 
would not realize h 


Time after time alter- 
ations were made i in the — 





ACTOR CHARS = 





ROSE STABL’S SOVEREIGN REMEDY ‘FOR 
€ A HEADACHE. 


113 
program to emphasize this point, and finally 
slips were introduced calling special atten- 
tion to the fact that both réles were imper- 
sonated by Mr. Hackett. 
convince himself that the public gave him _ 
the credit he deserved for the swiftness of — 
the change. Finally he hit upon the plan of 
coming out for his call, holding in one hand 
the whiskers of the King and in the other 
the jacket worn by Rassendyll, the while he 
glanced significantly from one to the other 
as he made his bows. 

Apropos of curtain calls, I heard a good 
one on Olga Nethersole the other day. At 
one stage of her career, she had a fashion 
of walking down to the footlights and ex- 
tending one hand over them to the audience 
in touching fashion as she said: “1 wish 
that you dear people out front had but one — 
collective hand that I might take it in mine 
ard tell you how dear to me Philadelphia 
is.” That is, on one occasion she should 
have said “ Philadelphia,” as she was play-— 


ing there, but made a slip and made it — 


“Chicago” — her last 
stand — instead. Tab- 
leau and a hasty exit. 
If actors as a class 
are not particularly 
sensitive to the funny 


sensitive enough in the 
exclusive meaning of 
the word. The other 
night I happened to be 
behind the scenes at a 
vaudeville house, and 
was suddenly amazed to 
have a monologist I did 
not know come up to 
the group with whom I 
was chatting and whom 
he did not know either, - 
and break out with: 

“That woman was 
the limit. Positively, 
she stood there ten min- 
utes by the clock in that 
stage-box taking off he? 
cloak before she sat 
down, making sure that 
every eye in the house 
was fiveted on her. 
And, of course, all that 
part of my work went 
to the bad.” ~ 

Just think what a 
revolution would be 
wrought in the com- 
mercial world 
_ployees in business 
“houses were as anxious 
to- _ be “faithful every 





But he could not — 


side of things, they are 


if em-_ 


2 


Bode 


— 























EUGENE WALTER AS SERGEANT DRILLING A RAW RECRUIT BIGGER THAN HIMSELF, IN HIS ARMY DAYS, 
BEFORE HE WAS ABLE TO CHASE “THE WOLF” FROM HIS DOOR BY BRAIN WORK THAT 


HAS ENABLED HIM TO MARK ALL BILLS: “ 


ae J 


minute of their working time as are the 
actors. The more “you give an actor to do 
the better he likes it. The joke of it is, in 
connection with the incident related above, 

ethe woman who stood sap in the box and 
took such a long time to settle down, was 
a player herself. - 

While on the subject of vaudeville 
theaters, I can tell you ‘of still another in- 
cident that happened, 
Monday morning rehearsal, when the new 
acts of the week are run over for the 
benefit of the band and the scene shifters. 

- On this particular occasion it happened that 
a well-known actor who has been a star in 
the legitimate was to be in the bill with a 
- playlet oncerning whose staging he ECe very. 





~ “Now, 


— rae a = 





this time at the 


of making 
sible 


: look here,” he said to ‘the stage 
= hands, * “be” “sure that statuette ‘goes vs 3 


PAID IN FULL.” 


and this picture must be hung just so, and — 
that chair be placed on this exact spot.” 
As a matter of fact, the properties have © 


nothing in particular to do with the sketch, — = 


as happens in some plays, but this actor 
feels that he is condescending to appear in 
vaudeville at all, and must keep up a 
“front” in some way, so_ selects. this. 


Meantime, Eva Tanguay, the head-liner of x= 


the program that week, was down stage 
running over with the orchestfa leader her. 
famous song: “Nothing Bothers Me.” 
Richard Carle certainly owed New York- 
ers a good show. after handing them “The 
Hurdy Gurdy Girl’ * Jast->fall.: And if 
“Mary’s Lamb” cks*no feathers from — 
the proud tuft worn by “ The SS) 
Chicken,” it at least can_ boast fhe 


















= 


if Mr. Carle did have to go to France for 
the story on which he strung his songs. 

In fact, “ Mary’s Lamb” is nothing more 
—or less—than a new version of “Mrs. 
Ponderbury’s Past,” which was played here 
as a farce at the Garrick as long ago as 
when poor Stuart Robson was alive, for he 
was Mr. Ponderbury. And the play was 
revived in London last season for Charles 
Hawtrey, if I mistake not. 

But if “Mary's Lamb” continues to bleat 
all summer at the New York, it will not 
be due either to the star or his play, but to 
the trimmings in the way of specialties and 
to the presence in the cast of the prettiest 
girl I ever saw on the stage. Her name 
was not on the program—and she did noth- 
ing except dance—but her~ beauty, of the 
unwonted stage type, was so striking that 
every time she emerged into view she re- 
ceived a round of applause all to herself. 
This beautiful chorus girl is Dorothy Follis, 
she is from New York and this is her first 
engagement. Possibly she may seem pret- 
tier than she really is by force of contrast. 


ACTOR (CHAT 


Be ise 


For of all the chambers Of eee box = 
horrors, commend me to the women of the 
Carle chorus. There is one girl: especially, 
with a strident voice, enormous eyes and 
paint on her cheeks two or three layers 
deep, who would haunt you into sleepless- 
ness were it not for Miss Follis as an 
antidote. 

Just who this girl was or what she had 
to do with the show, I couldn’t quite make 
out. At one stage of the proceedings I 
thought she was on hand to do any singing 
that might be required of Elita Proctor 
Otis, who figures as the Leeevite% wife of 
Mr. Lamb. ‘ , 

But after all, what’s the use of worrying 
about anything else if one can go to the 
New York and. see such a pretty and un- 
theatric looking girl as Dorothy Follis. 
But why, oh why, didn’t K. & E. think Jast- 
fall, when they were redecorating the house, 
to have it done in Nile green rather than 


in Pompeian red, the sight of which makes - : 


you think it your bounden duty to look hot 
even if you don’t feel so. ; 





SHE’LL HANG 























ARTIST (wHo IS COOKING AND WORKING 1 AT THE: SAME ae 
Now I HAVE SALTED. THE PICTURE AND VARNISHED THE MEAT!” 


AM TO-DAY ! 





UP A LOAF OF BREAD, 


NEXT. | 





“How ABSENT-MINDED Ee 


: Mlicgende:2 Blatter. 























ih 


"HE mercury hovered near zero, and 
the biting, searching wind which 
met you at every corner and threw 

: clouds of snow spitefully in your 

‘face made those outside hunt for the 
warmth of a saloon stove. With its dingy 

_barrooms and empty warehouses, it was a 
disreputable part of town, this, where only 
the criminal could walk in safety. 

Through the street trudged a man, plung- 
ing through the white drifts, bound for the 
-fireless, almost barren, room over O’Hare’s 
saloon. His numb hands were shoved into 
the pockets of his frayed overcoat, his chin 
thrust into its high collar. 

This man was William Summers. For 
perhaps ten years, however, no one had 
called him by that name. Indeed, he might 
not have answered to it now. He was 

__ known as “Billy, the steerer”; “Billy, the 

- fox,” and a dozen other such appellations 
of the sort apt to be bestowed upon men of 

his stamp. But although ten years of his 


3 se 


life had been spent alternately in luxury and - 


the cell, the brand of crime was not:on his 
face. 

“As his “nicknames indicated, Summers’s 
specialty was swindling. 
reputation of being the most famous bunco- 
steerer in the East. Until recently he had 
plied his wiles with wonderful success. He 
had worked new schemes, modernized old 
ones, and had cashed his originality for 
good American coin. 


He enjoyed the 





= 





But now Dame Fortune seemed to frown 
upon him. His continual run of bad luck 
had placed him in the membership list of 
that unpopular organization, the Down and 
Out Club. In his necessity his stylish 
clothes went to the second-hand store and 
were replaced by garments which made no 
pretense whatsoever to fashion. 

Now, without even the price of a warm- 
ing drink, he sought the poor comfort of 
O’Hare’s dollar-a-week lodging. 

Wading through a high drift, he turned 
into the squalid side street. Just off the 
corner were the steps which led to his room. 
As he placed his foot on the first step, he 
saw a dark something which broke the 
whiteness beneath him. Pushing the thing 
with his foot, he perceived that it was the 
huddled body of a man. : 

“Poor devil!” muttered Summers, bend- 
ing over the stiff form. Not sure that life 
was extinct, he picked up the body and half 
carried, half dragged, it up-stairs. 


\ 


In his room Sumniers dropped thectrecee 


man on his own cot and fumbled awkward- 
ly for a match. He stamped his feet and 


stretched his numb hands over the flame of 


the smoky, odorous lamp to encourage cir- 
culation. — 

When the dull ; 
somewhat. relieved, 
lucky mortal on the cot. 


sufficient to prove that no Y sparie of life re- 
ee Seas ——— 
116 2 





ee —— 

- of ‘his fingers was 
turned to the un- 
One glance was 











: OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. 


Then Summers fell to noting the dead searched the box for a wig of the exactly 


man’s appearance. He was tall, slight of proper shade. With the red wig 


over his | 


build, and a mass of reddish-brown hair own brown hair, he stared critically into the — 
marred what would have otherwise been a mirror. Next he studied carefully the bank- 
handsome face. He was well dressed, and er’s face. The likeness was perfect! 5 


this fact made his death in this locality “What an artist I am!” exulted Sum- 
savor of foul play. mers under his breath. 
Summers decided to search the body in If his thoughts could have been registered, 


the hope of discovering the man’s identity. they would have read something like this: 


From the inside coat-pocket came a wallet. “First, Mr. Anthony, deceased, 


must be 


The first evidence that the pocketbook re- got rid of. That’s easy—a weight and the — 
vealed was a number of cards, bearing the sewer. Then the tailor’s. That means good 


name, “Leonard P. Anthony.” And in the clothes. Next on the program is 


a week's 


corner, “Cashier, Knoxville Mechanics’ visit to Knoxville to discover. Anthony’s 


Bank.” habits and friends. 
“A banker—and here!” ejaculated Sum- “ After that, back to Nar York, 


bs 


where I 


mers, his brows arching upward with sur- ‘will practise Anthony's signature and brush 
prise. There floated to his nostrils the up my South American geography. When 
aroma of strong spirits. “He paid high for the chap here is due back, I become Mr, 
it this time,” said the swindler, noticing the Anthony and resume my duties as cashier— 
odor. as cashier of a bank! After forty-eight 


’ The remainder of the purse’s contents hours as banker, I will disappear 


with the 


was money—nothing but money! In amaze- bank’s funds and be myself again, with 
ment, Summers counted the bills. They twenty thousand or more to the good. 
were all of large denominations. Altogether “T certainly hold a full hand. If I lose, 


they amounted to a trifle over three thou- it’s my fault.” 


sand dollars. Whereupon Summers made preparations — 
“What luck!” rejoiced the professional to rid himself of the dead banker’s grue- . 


swindler. ‘“ What glorious luck!” 
He shoved the wallet and bills into the close by and the streets deserted. 
pocket of his ancient overcoat and con- 


some presence—no difficult task with a sewer 


tinued his search. There was little more— In the stooped, venerable gentleman whom 
merely the banker’s business diary, a few the Knoxville hotel-register proclaimed to 


press clippings, a check-book, and a photo- be Thomas Wilkes, of New York, 


even the 


graph of the dead man. best detective would have failed to recog- 

The press clippings were from the two nize William Summers. Wilkes, otherwise 
Knoxville weeklies, and stated that Leonard Summers, said that he was in ill health, and 
P. Anthony, Knoxville’s rich bachelor, would his pale cheeks and listless eyes did not be- 


depart soon for South America to look after lie his statement. 
his mining’ interests. He would be gone, As Mr. Wilkes, he displayed a 
they stated, about seven weeks. 


able propensity for making friends. 


remark- 
At the 


This ended Summers’s examination. But end of four days he was offering fatherly 


regardless of the cold, he sat, his eyes trans- advice to James Griffin, the young 


assistant — 


fixed on the lifeless face before him. An cashier of the Mechanics’ Bank, and was in- 
idea, at first wild and unreasonable, had  cidentally drawing upon that young man’s 


taken root in his brain. supply of knowledge. 


The nucleus of the quickly developing After his fifth day in Knoxville, Mr: 
plan was the marked likeness of the color- Wilkes paid his hotel-bill, remarking casual- 
less features to his own. The same long, ly that the illness of his daughter recalled 
thin face and the aquiline nose which dis- him to the horrible, nerve-racking bustle of 


tinguished himself, Summers saw mirrored _ the city. 


before him. The eyes, too, were of the same For the next six weeks time rested heavily - 
shade, the ears placed at the same angle on. on Summers’s hands. There was nothing to 
the head. do except practise his new signature; and — 


ST€ cat done!” he chuckled. 


so often had he dashed off that “L. P, An- 


In another instant he had pulled from un-  thony,” with the curious little tail to the 
der the cot his indispensable make-up box, “yy,” that the forgery was, like everything 


the one possession he a saved from the sat Summers did, already perfect. 


wreck of his fortunes. Looking now at the ~ The hardest problem that Summers found 
eee of the lifeless bi then at his own to solve was his voice. 
reflected in the make-up pa ee rorked Leonard P. Anthony, he learned, i ‘ost 





rapidly. A touch here and a line there, i 


it was done. For a moment: ‘Summers when he — it was merely a 





nd the volume of his voice when young, and 


childlike 


9 

















eee 


screech. But here Summers’s ready imag- 
ination came to the rescue. He formulated 
a story of how the change in climate and 
‘the ocean breeze had worked wonders with 
his throat. : ; 

When the seventh week had slipped away, 
- Leonard Anthony, bank cashier, sat in the 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


= f 
y 
# 


baggage and “walked townward. Before 
reaching the business section, he saw Colo- 
nel Tydings, president .of the Mechanics’ 
Bank, walking briskly toward him. Drop- 


ping his cases, Summers paused, with out- 
stretched hand. The colonel» regarded him 
coldly and passed on. 





DROPPING HIS CASES, SUMMERS PAUSED, WITH OUTSTRETCHED HAND. THE COLONEL REGARDED 
- HIM COLDLY AND PASSED ON, 


- parlor-car of the west-bound express, on his 
way to Knoxville. He was a very impres- 
sive person in his well-cut clothes and im- 
maculate linen, far more impressive than 
the swindler who had hovered near O’Hare’s 
saloon seven wéeks before. 

When the train drew up before Knox- 

_ ville’s small -brick station at 4.14 p.m. the 

_ only passenger to alight was Summers. The 

- porter placed his bag and gun-cases on the 

platform, and the express steamed away. 

A few bystanders eyed Summers curious- 
ly; and the new arrival was nonplused, 

Judging from Anthony’s reported popularity, 
he had expected violent manifestations of 
affection from the townsmen. There was 
nothing of the kind. ; : 

Disappointed, Summers picked up his 


+ 


mers joyously, rushing forward. — 


“Heavens!” breathed Summers. “The 
president of the bank cuts the cashier! I 
wonder what is wrong.” 

Once more picking up his traps, he pur- 
sued his way. In front of the Mechanics’ 
Bank he chuckled his self-appreciation. He 
let himself in the side door. Griffin, the 
young assistant, turned from the letter-files 
over which he was working. : ; 

“Hello, Jimmie, old chap 


!” cried Sum- 

_ The young man drew back, startled. 
“Why—why, sir,” he stammered. 
‘Summers’s ar opped to his side. — 


“Jimmie,” he said» reproachfully, “don’t 






- you remember me?” = - 


The assistant cashier frowned medita- 


stivelys =o : 





OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY. : 119 


“No,” he responded slowly,. “I don’t be- 


lieve I do.” t 
Instantly Summers was filled with awful < 


fear. Was his disguise in any way lacking? 
A glance into the mirror on the wall told 
him that it was perfect. He knew that 
something was wofully wrong. In vain he 
searched his usually active brain for some- 
thing to say. 

At this moment a tall, gray-haired man 
entered. He was thin, and his shoulders 
had the droop that told of countless hours 
of desk-work. He looked inquiringly at 
Summers. For a moment his piercing eyes 
rested on that person’s face, then his own 
paled—why, Summers did not know and 
could not guess. 

“You here?” demanded the newcomer in 
a very squeaky voice. 

Speechless, Summers could only stare at 
the man. 

“Perhaps you have come to return my 
money,” suggested the elderly man. 

“T—I am at a loss—”’ began Summers 
uncomfortably. ; 

“Soam 1,” interrupted the other. “James,” 
he continued to the assistant, “when I start- 
ed for Sotth America, I took a cab in New 


the driver. 


York for my hotel. This ruffian here was 
He drove me into a deserted, 
quiet side street, knocked me on the head, 
and relieved me of something like three 
thousand dollars and a few papers of con- 
siderable value. ; 

“T never said anything about it before, 
because I do not believe in crying over spilt 
milk. Call a policeman.” 

When James had scurried out the door, 
Summers ventured a question: 

“You are Leonard P. Anthony?” he 
asked. 

“Of course. . Didn’t the papers you stole 
tell you that?” 

“And you returned home—when?” = 

“Three days ago,” answered-the bank 
cashier shortly. 

Summers walked over to a mirror and 
looked earnestly at his reflection there. Sud- 
denly he remembered that he had seen a 
picture of the dead man in -whose likeness 
he had disguised himself. Then more light 
broke on his brain. He was posing as 
“Leary Pete” Kohn, wanted in Chicago for 
murder on a’ dozen counts. 

Then Summers chose the lesser of two 
dangers. He confessed. 





OBEDIENCE IN THE ORIENT. 


Father, Husband and Son Can All 


Tell a Chinese Woman What She 


Must Do and There Is No Talking Back. 


BEDIENCE is the great virtue of the 

Chinese woman. It is to learn this 

that she is sent to school, and when the 

lesson is thoroughly mastered her education 

is complete. There are two  text-books 

especially written on this subject for the 
benefit of women and girls. 

The first, “ Nu Sz Shu,” considers in great 
detail the three duties of women, obedience 
to father, obedience to husband, and obe- 
dience to son. The second, which is the one 
most read, is called “The Daughter’s Clas- 
sic.” There are only eighteen pages in it, 
but by the time the Chinese girl gets 
through reading all the things she is sup- 
posed to do, she must be glad there are no 
more. 

It opens with the general duties of a 
daughter—early rising, sweeping the floor, 
combing the hair, washing the face; and sew- 
ing till the rest of the family are up. It 
gives directions as to the greeting of rela- 
tives, warns against loud talking and loud 
laughter, and directs how to walk according 
to custom. 

Next come rules for a daughter at the age 
of eight to eleven years. At this time she 


is to be considered an adult, and must now 
cook, sew, embroider, and study politeness; 
and, as she has not many more days at her 
mother’s house, she must study carefully the 
duties of a daughter-in-law. The ten com- 
mands which follow are: 

“ Parents’ love is as deep as heaven and 
earth, therefore honor them. 

“Honor brothers and sisters. 

“Waste not; in time of plenty, ‘think of 
poverty. 

“Be polite to guests and to your mother- 
in-law and father-in-law, always allowing 
them to eat first. : 

“Be neat. Old and new clothes, even 
after they are clean, give yet one more wash- 
ing, that~friends and neighbors may speak 
well of you. 

“Beware of evil. Do not steal a thread, 
or neighbors will not like you. 

“Be humble. Earth has heaven; woman 
has a husband. Ill thrives the family that 
shows a cock that’s silent and a hen that 
crows. 

“Be industrious. If you are so fortunate 
as to have a husband, follow and obey him 
to old age. If he dies, do not remarry.” 

= * 








“THREE DAYS AGO, SIR, YOU WENT OUT AT 
2:45 AND TOOK CAB 7,604.” 





‘EVERY STRANGER WHO GOES TO ST. 


PETERSBURG IS DOGGED BY THE — 
| == - POLICE NIGHT AND DAY. - 





BY FRANCIS 


PAVING lost the address and not re- 
membering the name of a person 
whom I had visited three days be- 
fore, I called on a Frenchman who 


had been my guide in St. Petersburg and 


asked him: : 

“Do you remember the name and_ the 
address of the person to whose house I 
went on the day following my arrival in 
St. Petersburg?” ; 

“Not exactly,” he said, “but I can take 
you to a person who will direct you.” And 


Es ASHEORD: 


sian official who was connected with Mr. 
Kleigels, the prefect of police. 

We were received in a handsomely ftr- 
nished room. 
pers were hidden behind tapestry in the 
corners. Several gentlemen shook hands 
with us and began to talk, as if we had been 
in a club-house. Typewriters could be heard 
“also, yet it was hard to realize that we were 
in a police bureau. — 


Exchanging compliments, my friend said: 


“This gentleman has been in St. Peters- 


"at once he took me to the office ofa high Rus- burg but a short time, and he would like 


a 


S 





120, = ae = 





Bookcases filled with pa- 











gave to your 


-and unceasing, 
which I was told’ of my most secret con-. 


EVERY 





to know the name and address of a person 
whom he visited on the day following his 
arrival.- He has forgotten—" 

“Why, certainly!” answered the func- 
tionary with a smile, “at once. . . . Let 
us see, Mr. X , arrived a few days ago, 
, coming from Z—, docket 
2,086. There we are!” And taking a slip 
of paper on his desk he continued in the 
most natural way: 

“Three days ago, sir, you went out at 
2.45, took cab 7,604; you were with an 
officer and you spoke in French about the 
coming visit of King Edward to Russia. 
Twenty minutes later you reached the Saint- 
Isaac church, which you visited; from there 
you went for tea to the house of Mme. 
de M—— to whom you explained the plan 
of one of your articles; then you returned 
to your hotel with cab No. 8,790, and you 
“schweitzer’ (janitor) twenty 
“kopecks’ to mail for you a letter to France, 
and if you would like a synopsis of this 
letter—” ; 

Saying this, he was looking for another 
slip of paper. 
much precision, a watchfulness so constant 
and the sans géne with 








duct, left me absolutely speechless! And 
my astonishment knew no bounds when I 
learned that any one could obtain for one 
cent the address of mle inhabitant of the 
a => Mess 





I was dumfounded! So. 


RTA PA TS £ 
SEELOEERIETEEOOLELE COOELECE 


YEPALTLL 


“You are surprised,” said the functionary, 
laughing. “You will get used to it, and be 
grateful to us for the security we guarantee 
you.” 


the Russian police official, but he was 
wrong. No visitor in the Czar’s land is 
“orateful” for the “security” 
police throw around him. The lack of 
gratitude arises from the fact that no 
security is given. On the contrary, the 
policy of iron-heeled suppression of free 
speech and the right of public assembly that 
are supposed to be in the interests of order 
result only in disorder. 

Those whose rights are being trampled 
upon by the government communicate with 


each other and make plans to right their ~ 


wrongs, even though such actions be against 
the government’s wishes. More than that, 
the manifold cruelties to which they are 


subjected oftentimes result in violent out-— 


breaks in which the lives of foreign visitors 
are endangered. : 

If one has forgotten the name of a per- 
son upon whom he had called as I had, 
it is convenient to be able to go to the 
police and get the information, together 
with a full report of what was said, if 
desired. 

But the convenience oy Seki governmental 


facilities is more than offset by the many 
_ terrible 


disadvantages of police- spying, 
police-gagging and police-brutality. 


x 


In this remark my friend was typical of © 


that the 


\ 




















THE COUPLE, ACCOMPANIED BY A MINISTER, 
CLIMBED TO THE TOP OF THE NEW CHIMNEY 
OF THE PEORIA GAS AND ELECTRIC COMPANY. 


~ yanks the hero from under the pile- 
driver, it’s a pretty good guess, if 


a = N act or two after the tank scene, 
<j or at the moment when the heroine 


it is a really up-to-date melodrama, that an” 


exceedingly unconventional wedding is going 
to take place. 
But the most ingenious. of playwrights has 


‘not yet been able to prove that fiction is — 


stranger than truth when it comes to the 
ceremony of tying the matrimonial knot. 
- There have been dozens of weddings in. real 
‘life that have been: ‘just as strange, and per- 


haps stranger, than any the stage has ever 


es 


ett Be 


have a witness. 


HOW’D YOU LIKE > 


TO BE MARRIED 


ON A CHIMNEY TOP? 


OR IN A CEMETERY ‘= 


OR ON*ROLLER-SKATES ? 
OR IN A ROWBOAT? 


Many Loving Couples Have Chosen 
Even Stranger Places to Meet 
the Parson and Say “I Do.” 


BY E. L. BACON. 


Before disputing these assertions it would 
be well to look over the thrilling works of 
the inspiring melodramatists and see whether 
there is anything more exciting than this 
climax to a love affair in Virginia last April. 

In New Kent County, in that State, lived 
young Robert E. Bradenham and Miss 
Hannah Godden. They were the most ardent 
of lovers, but Mr. and Mrs. James H. 
Godden, the parents of Hannah, frowned on 
the young man’s suit, They informed him 
that even if he wefe to wait the rest of his 
natural life, they would never allow him to 
marry their daughter. 

One day neighbors told Mr. and Mrs. 
Godden that they had seen their daughter 
and Bradenham driving away at a break- 
neck pace. The Godtens quickly jumped 
into a carriage and started in pursuit. 

An hour later the elopers caught sight of 
the indignant parents. The young man 
whipped up his horse. 
along the rough road. 

Near West Point the lovers drew up be- 


fore the house of the Rev. Dr. G. V. Wainy : 


and shouted to him to come out. 
“Get in here with us,” 


The minister got in, and sey they 


whirled, Then they explained to him that : 

they wanted to be married as soon as they 

managed to. get a few moments to spare. : 
Dr. Waugh was willing enough to perform —_ 





the ceremony, 





but he said they ought to 
Se a mile farther on they 


They fairly flew 


cried Beatoneeet : 
when the minister appeared at his door. 
“Tt explain later.” 


} 





not resist the appeal. 
skiff, 
shoulder, and began the ceremony, but the 
river was so rough that the elopers had to 


3 


STRANGE PLACES FOR WEDDING CEREMONIES. 


caught sight of a friend of Bradenham 
named Charles Cabe. They pulled Cabe into 
the carriage, too, and they had no more than 
done so than they discovered the determined 
Goddens coming over a hill scarcely more 
than a stone’s throw away. To make matters 
worse, before them lay the Pamunkey River. 

But there were boats on the river bank, 
and there was just a chance that they’ might 
all pile into one in time to get away. They 
jumped out of the carriage, rushed to the 


nearest skiff, cut the rope that held it, and 
pushed out into the stream. 


“A> minute later 





THE MINISTER STOPPED AND PONDERED. 


* 


. ae 


— 
123, 
By this time the bride’s — were on 


the water themselves, and were rowing as if 
their lives depended on it. The minister 


heard them coming, and he rattled out his ~ 


words faster and faster. Another minute 
and the pursuing Goddens were so close — 
that they could hear what he was saying. — 
A moment more and Mr. Godden would 
be able to bat the young man over the head 
with an oar. c 
But it was all over. “Bless you, my chil- 
dren,” the minister was*saying. The bride-- 
groom kissed the bride, the minister smiled 


“Y GUESS A DEAD MAN CAN AFFORD TO WAIT BETTER 


THAN YOU,” HE CONCLUDED. WITHOUT DELAY HE BEGAN THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY. 


the ‘girl's parents reached the shore and 
looked around for another boat. 
The elopers saw that they were likely to 


_ be caught, and in midstream they begged 


the minister to marry ‘them at once, Dr. 
Waugh had been in love himself, and could 


steadied himself by gripping Cabe’s 


keep their seats. 


w= 


He stood up in the 


triumphantly, Cabe cheered. Three boat’s 
lengths away the outwitted Godden snorted 
with rage, turned his skiff around, and — 
started for shore. aS 
Under even more remarkable circum- 
stances, Carrol Applegate and Miss - Alta 
Gale were united in marriage in Peoria, 
Illinois, on December 20, 1906. The couple, — 


‘accompanied by a minister, climbed to the 


top of the new chimney of the Peoria Gas 


and Electric Company, and there, two hun- : 


























Sc. cheers. 
But it was no such craving for sensational 


mediate operation. 


- surgeons, 
Teas there’s a chasice of my dying.” 


dred. feet above the ground, the marriage 
_ ceremony was performed. 


The wind was blowing a gale, and the 
“bride was so dizzy that she could barely 
make the necessary replies to the minister’s 
questions. Below, they saw a crowd of peo- 
_ ple, | loo ing like mere specks at that distance. 
When the three clambered cautiously down 
_ the long ladder, the crowd greeted them with 








effect that made the wedding of Charles 
Trocce and Miss Jilie Bernardi, on Decem- 
_ber 31, 1906, perhaps the strangest that has 
ever taken place in New York City. Trocce 
was an employee in Sherry’s restaurant. 
A rival for the affections of the girl stabbed 
him. He was hurried to Flower Hospital, 
where the surgeons determined upon an im- 
Trocce sent a message 
‘to the girl and another to a Dominican 
father. They arrived at the hospital when 








he was on the operating-table. 





old on a minute,” said the patient to the 
“YT want to get married first, if 


_THE LIVE WIRE. 





The surgeons, with their sasteienengs in 
their hands and the white-capped nurses 
with anesthetics, stood about the table while 
the priest solemnly performed the ceremony — 
that united the couple. Then Trocce kissed — 


his bride and the surgeons set to work upon 


him. 

For days it was a good deal of a question 
whether he would recover, but he pulled 
through, and while his tival languished in 
a prison cell, he and his bride went on a 
honeymoon trip. 

It would.take a good deal of hard think- 
ing to decide whether the operating-room of 
a hospital or the corpse-room of an under- 
taking shop would be the more gruesome 
place for a wedding. Just nine months be- 
fore the curious climax to Trocce’s romance 
the undertaking establishment of Patrick 
McDonnell, at No. 374 Seventh Avenue, 
New York, was the scene of a double mar- 
riage. George Beauchamp, a bookkeeper 
from Buffalo, had gone to board at No. 228 
West Twenty- Fifth Street. There Fate as- 
signed to him as roommate Roscoe C. Nel- 
son, a young lawyer from Fort Erie, Canada. 




















ING ‘OUT HIS QUESTIONS PROM A | APE 
, DISTANCE oF FIFTY FEET. 























iy 


é 


Each was in the habit of receiving a fine, 
thick letter at breakfast every day, and each 
guessed that the other had a girl at home. 


They exchanged confidences. Then they de- 
cided to coax the girls to come to New York 
and be married. 

A little later Miss Eva Storinska arrived 








N 
THE YOUNG MAN PULLED OUT A REVOLVER AND TOLD HIS FATHER TO STAND BACK. 
HE SAID TO THE JUSTICE, WAVING THE GUN IN HIS DIRECTION, 


you,” 


STRANGE PLACES FOR WEDDING CEREMONIES. 





“But, Great Scott, man! 


catch the next train back to Livingston,” : 
yal can’t - 


protested the .bridegroom-elect. 
wait till that funeral’s over. Come on, 
Mary. The graveyard for ours.” ; 

A few minutes later they reached the ceme- 
tery, where fifty persons were gathered 


: 





“AND AS 
“You GO RIGHT 


FOR 


AHEAD WITH THIS MARRIAGE.” 


from Buffalo and Miss Mary McCarty from 
‘Fort Erie. 


Beattchamp and Nelson imme- 
diately started on a hunt for somebody to 
perform the double ceremony. They found 
McDonnell, the undertaker, who happened to 
be a notary public. 

“Tve got a nice, swell shop where you can 
have the wedding,” said McDonnell. “Just 
as good as a church any day. Fine furniture, 
fine pictures, and nice and quiet.” 

After the ceremony each bridegroom gave 
the undertaker a half-dollar and a cigar. 

In surroundings that were not a bit more 
cheerful, Alson Batton and Miss Mary Ward, 
of Livingston, Montana, were married at 
Bozeman, that State, in October, 1905. The 


couple called at’ the office of the clerk of the 


court, and after getting a license, declared 


: ‘they wanted to be married at once, and 
i asked where they could find a minister. 


“Sorry,” said the court clerk, “but ‘the 
only ‘preacher in town is out at the: cemetery 


_ officiating at the funeral of one of our lead-— 
_ ing citizens.” ac3 5 








around an open grave into which a coffin 
was being lowered. ; 


“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” the minis-. 


ter was saying, when he felt a pull at his” 
coat-tails, 

“We want to get married,” the agitated 
swain from Livingston whispered into his 
ear. 

“But, my dear sir, this is no place for a 


wedding. Can’t you see that I am engaged : 


with quite a differént matter?” 

“But we’ve got to catch the train home,” 
cried the young man. “ We've got just ten 
minutes to get married and get to the sta- 
tion, and if we miss_ ‘it, there’s not another 
till to- -morrow morning.” = 

The minister stopped and pondered. ai 
guess a dead man can afford to wait better 
than you,” he concluded. While there was 
but one train to Livingston, he knew that 
the ferries on the Styx ran at all hours. 





‘Without delay he began the eters cere- 
_ mony. ae 
When it was over the ‘bridegroom pulled = 





125 


We've got to 








= 





(‘THE BRIDE’ WAS 


out his watch in haste, and with 


as a place to be married in. 





JUST ON 


the other 
hand pressed a fee into the minister’s palm. 
“Six minutes,” he said. “We can just 
make it.’ Then they bowed to the bewil- 
dered funeral party and hurried away. 

But most brides and bridegrooms would 
prefer a cemetery to a house in quarantine 
When Charles 
E. Healey, of Albany, arrived at Coventry, 
Chenango County, New York, last January, 
he found that Miss Ella Harris, to whom 
he was engaged, was ill with diphtheria. 


’ On reaching her home, he was told that if 


7 
Tl stay,” said Healey, and in he went. 


he went imside he would have to stay there, 


as-the house had been quarantined. “Then 


A few minutes later he telephoned for a 
justice of the peace. When the justice ar- 


rived, Healey appeared at an open window, 
explained that he and the patient had de- 


cided to be married at once, and told him 
they expected him to perform the ceremony. 
“Not for a house and lot,’ declared the 


justice emphatically, edging away toward the : 


road. j 
“But you won’t have to come inside,” ex- 


plained Healey. “You can stand out there 
by the fence, and Miss Harris and I will 
‘sit here in the window.” zi = 


In those circumstances, the justice con- 


cluded to accept the job, and with a nurse 





and. a physician as witnesses, he tied the 


8 


THE POINT OF PROMISING TO LOVE, HONOR, AND OBEY, WHEN HER - 
== FEET SLID OUT FROM UNDER HER, AND SHE SAT- DOWN ON THE FLOOR WITH A THUD. Se 


The father stamped out of the 
hastened away to swear out a warrant against ~ 





knot, shouting out his questions from a safe hy 

distance of fifty feet. aS 
The marriage of young William Wells and 

Anna Brendell at Troy, Illinois, on October™ 

14, 1904, was like a scene from a romance - 

of the old days on the frontier. After he 

and the girl had eloped, the young man’s — 

father had started in pursuit. The couple 

obtained a license, and appeared with it be-— 

fore Justice Eckert and demanded that he 

marry. them immediately. The justice was 

just beginning the ceremony when Wells, 

Sr., rushed in and ordered the bridegroom 

to return home with him instanter. ; Sy ; 
“You stop right where you are!” he  — 

shouted to the justice. “My son’s only nine- = 

teen years old, and you haven’t any right to 

marry him.” eee 
The young man pulled out a revolver and 

told his father to stand back. “And as for 

you,” he said to the justice, waving the gun 

in his direction, “you go right ahead with = 

this marriage.” ae 
The justice took a long, anxious look into — 

the barrel of the weapon and then cont! da = 

the ceremony, When he reached the point — = 

where the couple were directed to join their = 










right hands, the bridegroom cautiously 








shifted his revolver to his left to make sure 


that his irate parent kept hi: 




















his son for perjury in having given his age 
as twenty-one at the time he got the license. 

Sometimes, in these hustling days, a bache- 
lor explains that he has never had time to 
gét married. Such men might do well to 
consider the record time in which Chauncey 
R. Benifield, a wealthy ranchman from 
«Dallas, Texas, took to himself a wife in 
Indianapolis, in September, 1907. On the 
morning of his wedding day, Benifield was 
in Cincinnati and his fiancée, Miss Letta 
Williams, was in Terre Haute. They had 
arranged to meet at Indianapolis, get mar- 
ried there, and then proceed on a honey- 
moon trip to Chicago, whe the ranchman 
had a pressing business engagement. 

When Benifield consulted his time-iable 
he found that his train would not reach In- 
dianapolis until 2.40 o’clock in the afternoon, 
and that the train’ he must take to Chicago 
left thirty-five minutes later. He felt that 
his Chicago engagement could not be post- 
poned even for his wedding, and he was in 
a quandary. 

After thinking the matter over, he called 
up Miss Williams by long-distance telephone 
and told her they would have just thirty-five 
minutes in Indianapolis. Then he called up 
L. H. Mummert, the manager of an atto- 
mobile company, and outlined his plan. 








"THE _ELOPERS SAW ‘THAT THEY ‘WERE LIKEL 


oLW 





Mummert notified Hie Rev. HL 5. Crum to ee 
in readiness to marry the gs without — 
delay. << 

Both trains reached lodiensneie almost at Sex 
the same time. The couple _jumped into a 
motor-car and were driven rapidly to the 
court-house, where they got a marriage ‘i 
license. From there thes hurried to the: 
minister’s house. Z 

The bridegroom looked at his ‘ee Th 
time was getting short. There was not z 
moment to lose. Getting the license had 
taken longer than he had calculated, and to 
be sure of reaching the snnoy in time they 
should start at once. 

The minister was hustled into ae car, 
where the situation was explained to him. 
While they were whizzing through the 
streets he stood up next to the chauffeur, 
the bridal couple stood up in the— Sees 
and the knot was tied. 

They reached the station with just a amine = 
ute to spare. ; 

It was as a tribute to her famous neh 
memory that Miss Mary Toddhunter, a niece 
of General Pickett, of the Confederate Sa 
army, chose - Little Round Top, on the 
battlefield of Gettysburg, as the scene of her — 

marriage to Captain Hiram Johnson, of the 
United States Weather Bureau, in Septem- 



















10 BE CAUGHT, AND IN “MIDSTREAM “my BEGGED > : 
_ THE MINISTER ‘TO MARRY THEM AT ONCE. = = ee 











t 








ber, 1907. The wedding took place on the 
“summit of the historic mountain 
Pickett made the most famous charge of the 
~~ Civil War. 


where 





A double wedding is'a very common affair 
nowadays, but it isn’t very often that three 


brothers happen to get married all at once. 


In September, 1907, the Rev. J. Franklin 


-_ Shindell united in marriage, at Union Hill, 


New Jersey, John William Henry Johnson 
‘and Miss Amy Mugg; Joseph Herbert John- 


S son, John’s brother, and Miss Anna Hay, 


and Oliver Reuben Johnson, another brother, 


and Miss Lillian Burdett. 


A month earlier, at Jacksonville, Indiana, 
the four sons of John Summers were married 
to the four daughters of James Hochsteller, 
and the minister found the difficulty of call- 
ing each one by the right name worse than a 


- Chinese puzzle. 


There is always a bridal couple bobbing 
up somewhere who yearn for a wedding 
entirely different than anyother that has 
ever happened. Near Whitehall, New York, 
last March, Joseph Chalmers and Miss Emily 
Norton were married in an open field as they 


_ stood on the boundary line separating New 


York State from Vermont. The Rev. Mr. 





THE LIVE WIRE. 


Newell, of Brimstone Corners, Vermont, 
stood just across the line in his own State, — 
and the Rev. J. C. Irving, of Wrights, New 
York, stood on the other side, and they both — 
officiated at the marriage. : 

Last January Miss Eva Downing, of Win- 
chester, Kentucky, was married by long-dis- 
tance telephone at her home to Edward 
Burch, while he was at the other end of the 
wire at his home in Hampton, Virginia. 
Four telephones were used for the ceremony, 
and they were so arranged that the person at 
each receiver could hear all that was said by 
the others. The Rev. W. H. Stuart was at 
one receiver in ,.inchester, and a witness in 
Hampton at another. 

A couple in Pittsburgh a year ago decided 
to get married in a roller-skating rink. The 
Rev. C. L. Thurgood, pastor of the Central 
Christian Church, united Wilbert Schandres 
and Miss Beulah Smith while all three were 
balancing themselves on skates. The bride 
was just on the point of promising to love, 
honor, and obey, when her feet slid out from 
under her, and she sat down on the floor with 
a thud. After the ceremony the Rey. Mr. 
Thurgood seized the opportunity to preach a 
sermon to the five hundred skaters. 








“1 PROMISED MY OLD ’0OMAN 


JIM: 





__ THE OLD LADY GETS REAL MONEY—ALMOST. 


Mf} 


TWO YEARS AGO THAT FIRST TIME 1 EVER COMED HOMB 'NEBRI- 


ATED 1'D GIVE HER A FIVE-PUN-NOTE, AN’ I’M PROUD TO SAY HER’S NEVER HAD IT YET.” 
GARGE: “AH, NOW—BUT I RECKON SHE'S THOUGHT EVERY OTHER NIGHT SHE WUZ ENTITLED TO 


FOUR POUND NINETEEN AN’ sIx!”—London Sketch. 














Crittenden 


M 


wt 





SYNOPSIS OF -PREVIOUS-—CHAP LER Se 


N return-for proof of his innocence of the murder.of Paymaster Jordan, Captain Seote a 


| the hero of the ‘story, 


service, the whereabouts in Central America of a certain individual. 
known by a girl named Marian Latour, and it is from her that he must learn it. 


consents to learn for Colonel Volta, of the Austrian secret 


The secret is 
If he 


-does not, Colonel Volta will not produce the proof that Jordan was murdered, not by 


; 


Hofstein, 
noblemen, have all proposed to her. 
that he does. 
once. Her uncle, 
Colonel Volta’s yacht. 


CHAPTER V. 
The Tidings of Disaster. 


APERS! Washington! Philadelphia! 
New York! Papers! Have a pa- 
per, sir? Here you are! Papers!” 

The train-boy was crying his 
wares as he sauntered through the train. 

Absorbed in my own unpleasant thoughts 

and in no mood for reading, I did not heed 


“ 


him. But the bishop did. 
“Have you any Charleston papers?” he 
asked. 2 
“Charleston? No, suh, I reckon not, 


drawled the boy. “We won't get none till 
we git to Danville. Don’t you want a 
Washington paper, sub?” 

“Well, I suppose so.” The bishop helped 
himself from the pile, glanced over the pa- 
per, sighed, and turned to me. 


“No news is good news, of courses he- 


remarked. al 
tory sort of good news in the world.” 


ae Began in the July Lie Wire. Single © copies, 10 cents. 





“Yet it is the most unsatisfac-_ 


Scott, but by others interested in learning the same secret. 

Scott meets Miss Latour and falls in love with 
Sir Henry Lascelles, and Count Trumanoff, German, 
He suspects that they desire the same information 
A messenger comes from Central America for Marian and she leaves at 
Bishop Latour, and Scott start after her, intending to overtake her in 


She fells him that Baron 
English, and Russian 


her. 


I came out of my study and looked won- 
deringly at the paper. 
“What news did 

it?” I asked. 

“Feared to find,’ corrected the Sashoe. 

“TY don’t know. But I looked over all the 
accounts of crimes ands accidents. 

“T wanted a Charleston paper because 
Marian promised to put a personal in it. 
Eh? —What?” 

The train-boy had returned and was hold- 
ing out-a torn and soiled paper. 

“Here’s the Charleston News of day be- 
fore yesterday,” he explained. “I got it” 
off a man who'd finished with it. Don’t 
know whether you want it or not.” 

“Assuredly.” The bishop bought the pa- 
per and hur riedly turned its pages. : 

“Here. it—its,”—he exclaimed — Sg 
“Listen: : oe 

_ Charles: Leave for Rew York to- 
day. All well. — Harry. 


Marian and 


you hope to aad in 


“That's. the code agreed - on, 























130 


the others have arranged to 
sail for Havana and Belize. 
So far, so well. We shall get 
further news when we get to 
Charleston.” , 

He -laid the paper on his 
- knees_as one who had no fur- 
ther interest in> its contents. 
I stared at him. I could not 
take the situation quite as 
gravely as he. After all, this 
was the United States and 
the twentieth century. 

“You haven't looked over 
the. crimes yet,” I observed, 
rather mockingly, I fear. 





THERE WAS ABOUT THE BISHOP 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


“T--fear it may —“bée~ he: 
What do you know of Count 
Trumanoff, Mr. Scott?” 

The apparent change of 
subject bewildered me. 
“Why, nothing,” I hesitated, 
“except that he is attached 
to the Russian “Embassy in 
Washington.” 

“He has not been attached 
to it long. He is a man of 
great daring and wide ex- 
perience—always to be found 
where Russia has some des- 
perate enterprise afoot. T 
first met him ten years ago 


“True,’ the bishop an- ABENIGNITY, AN ATMOSPHERE When he was exploring in 
swered gravely. “It seemed OF LOVING KINDNESS THAT Yucatan. 
unnecessary since I heard SPOKE A GENTLE HEART. “There is a charm about 
from Marian. Perhaps you the man. He makes friends 


will look over them for me. My eyes are 
not as good as they were,’and the motion 
of the train makes it difficult for me to 
read,” 

I took the paper and scanned its torn 
pages idly. Nowhere did I see anything 
that by any chance could refer to Marian. 

“There’s nothing in it so far as I can 
see,” I reported. “Really, don’t you think 
you are exaggerating things a little?” 

The bishop laid his hand on my knee, 

“Make no mistake, Mr. Scott,’ he said 
impressively. “This is no case of child’s 
play. It is impossible to overestimate the 
gravity of the situation. 
be to invite disaster.” 

Silenced but unconvinced, I returned to 
the paper. Some flaring head-lines, passed 
over on my first inspection by reason of 
their very size, caught my eye. 

“Here’s a rather’ unusual case,’ I ob- 
served. “A Mexican peon tried to hold up 
a Russian gentleman and was shot dead. 
A Mexican and a Russian in Charleston— 
curious coincidence, isn’t it?” 

“Coincidence!” The bishop snatched 
the paper from my hand. “ Coincidence!” 
He skimmed the lines hurriedly. 

“Robber unknown! Thought at first to 
be a negro, but later discovered to be a 
Mexican half-breed. Mr. Zickoff vouched 
for by the Russian consul!’ This is more 
than a coincidence.” 

I looked at the old gentleman with a 
puzzled frown. “You mean?” I began 
tentatively. 

“J mean that when I reach Charleston I 
shall go to the morgue to look at the man’s 
body, and shall thank God if I fail to rec- 
ognize it.” 3 

Light dawned on me. “ You think it is 
the man who brought the message?” I 
asked. 


To do so. would’ 


everywhere. It was asserted at that time 
that he had been adopted by the Mayas and 
had become one of their chiefs. I have for- 
gotten this, but now it all comes back to me, 
lf it is true, and if he still retains power 
with the Mayas, it may mean I know not 
what danger to Marian.” 

The bishop ceased, and I lay back and 
considered the subject. Despite Jordan’s 
murder and Colonel Volta’s warning, de- 
spite the unexplained presence of the three 
foreign noblemen and their inexplicable ac- 
tions, the bishop’s inference that the mes- 
senger had been deliberately murdered to 
further some mysterious object of Russia’s 
was incredible to me. 

Again I opened the newspaper and_re- 
read the article. The case seemed perfectly 
plain. The Russian gentleman, who gave 
the name of Vladimir Zickoff, and who was 
a stranger in Charleston, reported that the 
man had come up to him at about five 
o'clock in the evening on a lonely block 
leadirig to the water-front, and had thrust 
a revolver into his face and demanded 
money. 

Mr. Zickoff said that he had promptly 
knocked the revolver aside, receiving a 
slight wound in doing so, and had closed 
with the man. In the course of -the en- 
suing struggle he had wrested the weapon 
from him and had shot him. The reports 
of the pistol had drawn a crowd. The 
man was found dead and Mr. Zickoff 
wounded. 

The case was apparently so plain that 
no arrest was made, especially as the Rus- 
sian consul had declared Mr. Zickoff to be 
a man of the highest standing. He had 
left Charleston for ‘Washington on the mid- 
night train. : 

This was a plain narrative of a not un- 
common occurrence. I could see in it no 


THE BURNING IMAGE. 


ground for the bishop’s surmises, and it 
seemed preposterous to think that the Rus- 
sian government could connive at a murder 
away off Here in America. Still, if the 
bishop’s supposition as to the identity of 
the dead Mexican proved well founded, 
then, indeed, there would be cause for 
anxieiy. 


CHAPTER VI. 
A Friend in Need. 


HE bishop was right. The man was the 
messenger. 

Standing above his dead body, I won- 
dered afresh what desperate errand had 
brought him from his far-away, half- 
heathen home to meet his death in this 
presumably safe and civilized country. Great 
indeed must besthe issues and desperate the 
plotters who dared to commit deliberate 
murder merely to remove a possible ally of 
Marian and her brother. 

If they risked so much for so small a gain, 
what might they not venture against Marian 
herself? For I could no longer doubt that 
the man had been slain on account of his 
connection with the Latours. 

Shaking with helpless rage and terror, | 
raised my eyes to find the bishop regarding 
the corpse sadly. His eyes were filled with 
tears and his lips quivered. 

“Good and faithful servant and friend,” 
he murmured. “ May Heaven punish, your 
cruel murderers!” 

I set my jaw. For the first time the 
bishop’s gentleness angered me, but I did 
not permit my rage to be visible. 

“Whom shall we notify?” I 
asked. 

* Nobody!” 

“ Nobody?” 

“Nobody! To what end? 
It would be utterly impossible 
to convict the man with no 
better evidence than we have. 
We should only draw attention 
to ourselves, which is just what 
we wish to avoid. 

“No; we can do nothing just 
now. Let the criminals think 
themselves safe. Later we 
may™talk of punishment. To- 
day we are helpless.” 

There was truth in what-he 
said. Irrefragable proof would 
be necessary before we could 
convict the murderer, and 
irrefragable proof we did not 
have. Moreover, any move we 
might make would certainly 
delay us, and delay might mean 





“SIR HENRY LASCELLES BE- 
LONGS TO A GREAT FAM- 
ILY AND IS HEIR TO 
MANY TITLES.” 


131 


life and death fo Marian, whose safety must 
come first of all with both of us. 

Perhaps even now—_ In terror I turned 
to the bishop. 

“Miss Latour?” I gasped. 

He divined my thought, and aewered it 
quickly. 

“T think she is still safe,” he said. ‘ Clear- 
ly she was not near when this dastardly 
murder took place. take it she sent 
Otranto to the newspaper office with her 
advertisement, and that he was waylaid on 
his return to the boat. She was to write, if 
possible, in care of a friend-here. 1 must 
go and get her letter. Come!” 

I followed him, but at the door of the 
morgue I stopped. It occurred to me that IL 
had better find my yacht, and make the ac- 
quaintance of my captain and crew before I 
took the bishop on board. Liars have to 
consider many things. 

“Perhaps we had better separate for the 
time being,” I suggested. “I must find out 
whether my yacht is here, and is ready for 
sea.. You can get your letter, and then join 
me on board. The yacht is named the Sun- 
flower. You can easily find her.” 

“Very well.” The bishop hesitated. “ Mr. 
Scott,” he said solemnly, “glad as I am of 
your aid, I should do wrong if I did not ask 
you to reflect once more before you cast™ 
your lot in with ours. You see now that 
this affair is no child’s play. It involves 
more than you can guess. 

“Our opponents are vigilant and daring, 
and will stop at nothing. You obstruct their 
plans at peril of your life. Remember, that 


so far we have seen only the tracks of the 
Russian. 


The German and the Englishman 
are still to be reckoned with. 
Their methods will be dif- 
ferent, but they are not likely 
to be less determined. : 

“You have nothing at stake, 
and before you become hope- 
lessly involved I want you to 
ask yourself seriously whether 
the game is worth the candle. 
It is not too late for you to 
stop now, but it soon will be.” 

IT shook my head. 

“T’ve enlisted for the war,” 
I declared positively. “I wish 
you were free to ‘tell me in 
what cause I am fighting, but 
if you can't, you can’t. I 
know I am serving Miss La- 
tour, and that’s. enough. for 
the present. Besides, I like 
the game. As for my life, I 
wish I could make you under- 
stand of how little conse- 
quence that is to anybody— 


132 


even myself. I am at your disposal ab- 
solutely.” 

“Good!” The bishop's face brightened, 
and he held out his hand. “Iam more glad 
of your aid than I can say. And if I cannot 
tell you more of the contest in which we 
are engaged, I can at least tell you that it is 
one which I glory in.” 

“Well, I’m durned; if it ain't the loo- 
tenant!” 

-The interjection came from close behind 
us. Startled, the bishop and I spun round, 
to see a little man in ill-fitting clothes stand- 
ing at my elbow, regarding me with delighted 
eyes. His face was vaguely familiar, but I 
could not place him. 

* Beggin’ your pardon, lootenant,” he went 
on, ‘but I. was so blamed glad to see you! 
Tt’s a long-ways from here to Texas.” 

Recollection came to me in a flash, and I 
reached out my hand. 

eur early! 1 cried. — * never. 
would have known you. Heavens and earth, 
man, what have you done to yourself? 
Where is your hair? Where are your curls? 
And what on earth are you doing here, 
dressed in that"way?” . 

The man’s brightness dimmed perceptibly, 
and he glanced at the bishop. “Friend of 
yourn, lootenant?” he demanded. 

“Yes. Bishop, let me introduce you to 
Curly Bill, who rode herd with me in Texas 
years ago, and served with me in the Span- 
ish War. Curly, this is Bishop Latour.” 

“Thunder! A sky-pilot.” Curly started 
back, and seemed on the point of flight. His 
panic amazed me, for I had known him as 
one who feared neither man nor devil. 
Quickly I looked at the bashop, fearing he 
had taken offense. 

But forty years’ experience had taught him 
much. He grasped Curly’s hand warmly. 

“A> sky-pilot!” he repeated. “I’ve al- 
ways thought that was a splendid name for a 
preacher. I'm delighted to meet you, though 
I'm afraid I can’t stop now to convince you 
of it’? He turned to me. “I'll leave you 
now, Mr. Scott,’ he announced. “I'll try to 
be on board in an hour. .Good morning.” 

When the bishop was gone Curly -glanced 
around him furtively. 

“T furgot for a minute,” he said hoarsely; 
“T was so plumb glad to see you. I’m off 
the reservation for good and all, and the 
boys are after me. I’m in hiding and I’m 
broke, and I’m in a divil of a fix generally.” 

“Well, you aren’t broke any more now— 
that’s sure. As for being in hiding and in a 
fix, suppose you come on board my yacht 
and tell me all about it. I need a friend 
like you just now—need one worse than I 
ever needed one in my life—and perhaps we 
can make a deal.” 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


Curly stuck his hand in mine. “I’m there,” 
he cried. ‘ Where'd you say? On a yacht?” 

“Yes. I have one lying in the bay here— 
at least, I think she’s here. I’m just starting 
for Central America. Perhaps, if you are in 
hiding, you'd like to come along.” 

Curly looked up at me gratefully, “By 
jings!” he exclaimed. “If that ain’t white! 
But, say, maybe you won’t want to take me 
when you know why the boys are after me? ” 

“Think not? Then don’t tell me. I’m 
not on a picnic myself, and may need your 


shooting before I get through. Will you 
come?” 
“Come? Well, I should howl! Say, loo- 


tenant, I ain’t ever been t6 sea none. These 
here yachts are likely to buck considerable, 
ain’t they?” 

“T’'m afraid they are, Curly,” I laughed. 

“Well,” the plainsman remarked with a 
sigh, “I guess it won’t be wers’n dancing on 
nothing as the prize attraction at a necktie 
party, Been here long, lootenant?” 

“Only got in an hour ago. By the way, 
how did you come to find me?” 

Curly started, and peered rapidly round, as 
if in search of some one; then shook his 
head. 

“He’s gone!” he said. “Say, do you 
know a tall Britisher, with three eyes just 
like you used to have, and a cut across his 
left forehead?” 

“Sir Henry Lascelles?” 

“That might be his name, and again it 
mightn’t. He warn’t branded, but he looked 
as if he might belong to some such herd as 
that. Anyhow, he was watchin’ you and the 
parson mighty keen from behind that tree 
yonder. I looked to see what he was a look- 
in’ at, and spotted you. Then, I didn’t take 
no more notice of him. Friend of yourn?” 


CHAPTER VII. 
On Board the Sunflower. 


FOUND the yacht rocking in the tide- 
way, in the shadow of historic Sumter. 
There was a man-of-war smartness about her 
that distinguished her from the other vessels 
that crowded the bay, and I was n6dt sur- 
prised to find that she was armed, carrying 
four guns and one torpedo-tube. Evidently 
Colonel Volta had prepared for any emer- 
gency. 

The captain received us at the gangway. 
He was a big, dark-faced man, with fierce 
eyes and high cheek-bones—a native of the , 
east of Europe by appearance. As I came 
on board he saluted with as little emotion as 
if he had known me for years, and my ar- 
rival was a matter of course. 


‘THE BURNING IMAGE. 


I returned his salute haughtily. Much 
might depend on my taking the ascendency 
from the first. 

“Good morning, captain,” I said curtly. 
“Send the launch ashore again to bring off 
an old gentleman, Bishop Latour, who wiil 
be at the pier in an hour. Then come to the 
cabin. I have some orders to give.” 

Without waiting for a response I walked 


133 

“Who's this fellow you’ve brought aboard, 
and who’s this bishop you're sending for?” 
he demanded truculently. : 

For a moment I hesitated. I did not know — 
exactly what orders Colonel Volta had given — 
concerning me—did not know who was sup- 
posed to be in control on the yacht. Yet my 
gorge rose at the thought of submission to 
this bully, 





aft with Curly, to where two or three deck- 
chairs invited to comfort. 
“Sit down, Curly,” I said, “and make 
yourself at home. I'll have a stateroom pre- 
pared for you as soon as I get the lay of the 
land a little.” 
Leaving Curly, I went below ‘to the cabin, 
where an instant later the captain joined me. 


Plainly his first civility had been adopted 


for its effect on the crew, for now, without 
taking off his cap, he strode forward and 
rested his knuckles on the table. 


i 


ordered coldly. 


’ 
“Look! Quick!” I ORDERED. ‘1S THAT THE MAN YOU SAW WATCHING ME THIS MORNING?” 


Besides, I had made myself responsible for 
the bishop's safety, and I hoped to offer 
Marian a refuge on board the yacht. This 
would be impossible unless I controlled the 
situation, and I could never control it if I 
submitted at the start. : 

I glared at the captain until he squirmed 
under my gaze. “Take off your hat,” I 


The man positively jumped at my tones. 
He opened his mouth to answer, but I took 


the words from him. ; 


134 , 


“ Take—off—your—hat! ” I repeated. 

My manner overawed him. Just what he 
had been told I never knew, but I do not 
doubt that he expected to find a subservient 
passenger. My assumption of authority 
amazed him, Clearly he concluded that if I 
dared to give orders to him in such a man- 
ner I must be somebody. Slowly he took off 
his hat. 

- 1 followed up my advantage. 

“Now, go outside that door and close it. 
Then knock, and don’t come 
in fintil I give you permission.” 

The veins in the captain’s 
temples swelled red, and for a 
moment I expected an explo- 
sion, but it did not come. 
Meekly he turned and walked 
out of the door and closed it, 
and quietly he rapped. 

I drew a breath of relief. 
“Come in,” I called. . 

A véry subdued man_ en- 
tered, cap in hand, and humbly 
took the chair I indicated, and 
answered my questions very 
civilly, though somewhat 
shortly. This, however, I soon 
learned was a habit with him, 
arising from a certain slug- 
gishness of intellect. His 
mind moved slowly. 

As may be supposed, I 
had to frame my questions 
with extreme care to avoid 
arousing suspicion by ig- 
norance. I learned, however, 
that the Sunflower had been 
built just as the Spanish- 
American War broke out, and that she had 
been promptly bought by the United States 
government, fitted with a hasty armament 
of rapid-fire guns and torpedo-tubes, and 
used as a despatch-boat. 

After the war she was sold, passed through 
the hands of several successive owners, 
‘“antil,’ said the captain, “your honor 
bought her only a few months ago.” 

The words sounded so much like sarcasm 
that [ started and looked keenly at the man. 
Not the flicker of an eyelash, however, 
showed that he intended to mock me, and I 
concluded that he was really in earnest. 

The yacht’s gun and torpedo fittings, it 
seemed, had never been removed, and “I” 
had sent orders to see that the crew was 
drilled in their management. All this and 
more the captain told me solemnly and 
smoothly, and I accepted it with equal non- 
chalance. 

Finally I dismissed him as haughtily as I 
knew how. 

“Inform me when the boat comes off from 


MAN 


AFOOT.” 





“COUNT TRUMANOFF IS A 


OF GREAT DARING 
AND WIDE EXPERIENCE— 
ALWAYS TO BE FOUND 
WHERE RUSSIA HAS SOME 
DESPERATE 


THE LIVE WIRE. E 


the shore, captain!” I ordered. “Until then 
I shall not need you.” 

Left alone, I rang for the steward, and 
ordered him to prepare staterooms for the 
bishop and Curly. Then, warned by a mes- 
senger from the captain, I hurried on deck 
to receive the bishop. 

The old gentleman climbed on board with 
an ease scarcely to be expected in one of his 
years. At the gangway he paused, and cast 
his eyes approvingly about the snowy decks. 

“Very shipshape,” he re- 
marked; “very shipshape, in- 
deed! I love a trim vessel, 
Mr. - Scott. I don’t know 
whether I ever told you, but 
I was a midshipman at the © 
naval academy at Annapolis 
when I was a lad, and prob- 
ably would have been in the 
navy to-day had I not had the 
misfortune to be ‘bilged’ on 
mathematics at»the end of my 
third year.” 

The bishop quickly noticed 
the guns, and crossed over to 
one of them. 

“Dear me!” he exclaimed. 
“T had no idea you were 
armed, Mr. Scott. And i 
see’”—he glanced up at the 
masthead—“* I see you have 
the wireless on board.” 

“Why, yes,” I stammered. 
“So we have. Both are sur- 
vivals of the Spanish-Amer- 


ENTERPRISE ican ‘War. I'll tell you all 
about them to-night. But 

Miss Marian—” 
“Oh! Of course. Pardon me. Natural- 
ly you are anxious. Everything is going. 
very well. Shall we go below? Or, stay! 


You are ready to put to sea?” 

“At a moment’s notice.” 

“Good! Then, with your permission, we 
will leave as soon as I get a message I am 
expecting. No; it isn’t worth while for you 
to send ashore for it. It will be sent to us.” 

Giving orders to send down any letter that 
might arrive, I led the way to the cabin. On 
the way we passed Curly, who stood up and 
saluted the bishop. = 

Smilingly the latter returned the gesture, 
but once in the spacious cabin he turned to 
me with a troubled look. 

* Who is this man Curly?” he asked anx- 
iously. ‘“‘ What is he doing on board? Are 
you sure of him?” 

In spite of my anxiety I laughed aloud. 
“T beg your pardon, bishop,” I exclaimed; 
“but you don’t know how funny the idea of 
Curly as a spy seems to me. I’ve known him 
off and on for several years. He is what is 


THE BURNING IMAGE, 


called a ‘bad man’ out West. That means 
that he is quick on the trigger, and has killed 
several other bad men.” 

“ But what is he doing here?” 

“As to that, I don’t know exactly. He 
has cut off the curls which were the pride of 
his life and which gave him his name, and he 
tells me he is in hiding, and Curly doesn’t 
hide from anything trivial. I brought him 
with us because he wanted to get away; and, 
besides, if it comes to a fight, he'll be equal 
to half a dozen men.” 

Bishop Latour did not look entirely satis- 
fied, but he dismissed the subject, changing, 
however, to a cognate one. 

“Your men?” he questioned. 
trust them fully?” 

I hesitated. 

“ Trust them for what?” I temporized. “I 
can trust them to do their sea duty cor- 
rectly, for they have been well selected for 
that. As for the rest, I don’t know. If you 
mean am I certain that none of them are in 
the pay of the enemy, I can only say that I 
don’t see how they could be, as the enemy 
could not know until now at the earliest that 
I was in the game. But, of course, I can’t 
guarantee their honesty in the future if they 
_ are tempted. Sailor men are a mighty un- 
certain quantity.” 

“You've had them all for—say— 

I pressed a button on the wall. 

“Ask Captain Martin if he will be good 
enough to step here for a moment,” I in- 
structed the steward. “ He can tell you about 
the crew better than I can,” I informed the 
bishop. “I haven’t seen them for two 
months or more.” 

A moment later Captain Martin knocked 
at the door. When I bade him enter he did 
so, cap in hand. 

I presented him to the bishop, who clasped 
his hand warmly. 

“T am glad to meet you, captain,” he de- 
elared. “I am to be your passenger for a 
short voyage, and I am always glad when 
the captain is a strong man, It gives me a 
feeling of safety.” 

The captain turned the words over in his 
mind for a moment, Then he doubled up his 
arm. 

“Ves! I’m strong,” he grunted. 

“That’s evident. But I meant a man of 
force rather than mere physical strength. 
What countryman are you, captain?” 

*““ American.” 

“Captain Martin tells me that his father 
was an Englishman and his mother a Pole,” 
I explained hastily. “‘ He himself was born 
in Minnesota. I am right, am I not, cap- 
tain == 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well; that’s all, captain. 


“Can you 


a month,” 


I only wanted 


135 


you to mect Bishop Latour, who is going 
south with us, and ask you about the 


crew. It’s been some time since [ve seen 
the men. Have there been any chariges?” 
“No, sir.” 


“You have all your old men, and have 
shipped no new ones?” 

“None, sir.” 

The captain saluted stolidly, and moved 
away. When he had gone the bishop took a 
letter from his pocket and unfolded it. 

“This is from Marian,” he said. “It is 
dated day before yesterday. In it she says’ 
that she and Fred are about to sail under the 
name of Brown on the steamer Crossjack for 
Belize. She intended to send Otranto ashore 
with the letter, and with a personal for in- 
sertion in the newspaper. Clearly it was in 
taking that message that the poor fellow met 
his death. 

“That is all, except for a few personal 
words, and a declaration that everything had 
gone well so far. In a postscript she adds that 
she will send ashore a later message, if pos- 
sible, by the pilot. I have not been able to 
learn yet whether she did send such a mes- 
sage, and it is to find this out that we are 


waiting.” ; 

“You, have inquired about the Cross- 
jack?” 

“Yes. She left at five o’clock—her usual 


time—on her usual trip, with her usual quota 
of passengers. All perfectly regular. I 
brought her schedule out with me, Here 
ys Chee 

I took the paper and studied it. 

“Humph! Yes. I see. She touches at 
several ports on the way to Belize. If she 
left at five o’clock day before yesterday, we 
can easily catch her before she gets to her 
destination.” 

“Can you?” The bishop rose- enthusi- 
astically to his feet. As he did so the stew- 
ard entered, with an envelope in his hand. 

“Letter from the shore, sir,” he reported. 

Hastily the bishop broke the seal, and 
glanced at the contents. Then he uttered an 
exclamation. : 

“Marian’s message has been delayed,’ he 
lamented. ‘‘ The pilot-boat hasn't returned 
yet, but is expected soon. It stays out till 
all the pilots have been put aboard vessels, 
you know. 

“My friend, Colonel Summers, says if we 
choose to go on; he will get the letter—if 
there is one—as soon as it comes, and send 
the gist of it on to us by wireless from Key 
West. I think, perhaps, we had better let 
him do it. It isn’t certain that Marian was 
able to write, you know, and there is no tell- 
ing how long the pilot-boat may be delayed.” 

“Very well. Ill give orders to get under 
way at once and we'll—” 


136 


A sudden tumult on deck cut short the 
words. A chorus of yells, a trampling of 
feet, the hoarse yoice of the captain shout- 
ing; then the clang-of bells and the sudden 
throb of the engines—all told that something 
_ unexpected had-occurred. 

Rushing on deck, I stood aghast. Borne 
by the strong ebb tide, a huge coal-barge 
was drifting rapidly down upon the Sun- 
flower, which, held by its anchor, awaited 
the blow that would mean injury if not de- 
struction. Close by, a tug was thrashing 
about, striving desperately, but to all appear- 
ance vainly, to avert the ruin its tow was 
about to work. 

“Case of stampede, ain’t it, lootenant?” 
~ queried Curly from behind me. “ Guess that 
fellow went to sleep when he’d ought to been 
riding herd, and they’ve broke plumb away 
from him,” 

Nearer and nearer the barge drifted until 
Scarce twenty feet of water separated her 
from the Sunflower. Another second and 
the crash must come. 

As I nerved myself to meet it, there came 
a rumbling beneath my feet and the Sun- 
flower dropped rapidly away down the tide. 
“Captain Martin’s trying to dodge!” I 
gasped, clutching the bishop’s arm. 

As I spoke, the Sunflower’s bell rang 
again and the yacht, which had let out her 
entire length of anchor-chain, shot ahead 
with a strong port rudder and, passing be- 
hind the barge so close that. she scraped the 
paint from her side, slid back into her former 
berth. 

“Hooray!” yelled Curly_ enthusiastically. 

T drew a long breath, 

“That was a near thing, bishop,” I cried. 
“Tf it hadn't been for Captain Martin, I 
guess we wouldn’t have sailed to-day. That 
clumsy tug-boat captain ought to lose his 
license.” : 

“He ought,” rejoined the bishop in a pe- 
culiar tone, “but not for clumsiness. He 
did the best he could for his employers. 
Captain Martin was too clever for him, that’s 
all.” 

“What on earth do you mean?” 

The bishop smiled bitterly. “You surely 
don’t think this affair was an accident,” he 
rejoined. “Jt was merely an incident in the 


attempt to prevent support from reaching: 


Marian.” 


CHAPTER VIII 
An Unwelcome Guest. 
Sess sun was past the meridian when the 


Sunflower steamed out of Charleston 
Harbor and stood away to the south on the 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


track of the Crossjack. Allowing for our 
greater speed and for the stopping of the 
other vessel at Nassau and Havana, we 
might expect to overtake her close to the 
northeast corner of the Yucatan peninsula, 
about two hundred miles north of Belize, and 
twenty-four hours’ steaming beyond Key 
West. 

The sea was rising, though the wind was 
merely fresh, and the yacht pitched slightly. 
I had always been a good sailor and the 
motion did not trouble me at all. The 
bishop, however, soon grew pale and sought 
his cabin, while Curly— 

When [I tried to comfort him he groaned: 

“Say, lootenant,” he muttered dully, “is 
this bronco going to keep on bucking for- 
ever? “Cause, if it is, I want you to run 
in somewhere and wire the sheriff of San 
Antonio that Curly Bill is. ready and willin’ 
to go back to Texas and be strung up com- 
fortable on dry land.” 

I laughed unfeelingly, I fear. 

“You'll be all right by to-morrow, Curly,” 
I said. “ The weather’s getting worse, but 
youll begin to pick up soon all the same. 
Come up on deck where you can get the air. 
It'll do you good.” 

As the day wore on, a change came over 
sea and sky. The sun still shone, but cold= 
ly and with a metallic gleam. The waves 
grew higher. All day they split against the 
yacht’s sharp prow and hissed aft; while 
the yacht rose and fell with a sickening 
pitch. There was no wind to speak of, but 
I was seaman enough to know that a storm 
must be raging somewhere out on the broad 
Atlantic. 

About five o’clock the lookout hailed the 
deck and reported a sail on the port bow. 
The glass showed that it belonged to a small 
catboat moving in the same direction as 
ourselves, and the greater speed of the Sun- 
flower soon enabled us to see that she had 
only one man on board. 

As we drew nearer, it became apparent 
that the little boat was in distress. She was 
abnormally deep in the water and labored 
badly as the waves struck her. Suddenly she 
changed her course, which had lain slightly 
to the east of ours, to one bearing more to 
the west. The man on her stood up and 
began to wave a handkerchief. 

T turned to the captain. “ What's the mat- 
ter with her?” I asked. 

Captain: Martin looked again. 

“Water-logged,” he grunted. 

“I thought so. She is— 
thought she was gone.” 

The boat had sunk so deeply into the 
trough of a wave that for the moment she 
had vanished. 

“She'll live some minutes yet.” 


By Jove! I 


THE 


“Some minutes!” The captain’s callous- 
ness angered me. “Hurry!” I ordered. 
“We don’t want the man to drown before 
our eyes.” 

The captain glowered at me. ; 

“We don’t want anybody else on board,” 
he grunted. ‘‘ Got too many now.” 

“Don’t want anybody!” Unreasoning 
rage almost choked me. “By Heaven!” I 
cried. ‘You'll run down to that man as 
quick as you can, or I'll take the command 
of this vessel out of your 
hands.» Quick now! Full 
speed!” Z 

With a snarl the captain 
turned on me; then once 
more he wilted. He said 
something in a_ strange 
tongue to the steersman, 
and the vessel, obedient to 
the flying spokes,_ shifted 
her course slightly and 
headed toward the catboat. 
At the same time he flung 
over the engine-room in- 
dicator and the Sunflower 
sprang forward with quick- 
ened speed. 

“Call away a boat!” I 
ordered. 

Obediently the captain 
gave the command and 
soon the cutter swung out- 
board, crew in place, and 
hung poised, ready to be 
dropped. 

Again I turned the glasses on the boat. 
No longer did she rise to the waves, but lay 
sluggish under the impact. With each roll 
I expected her to vanish. 

As I watched her, fascinated, I saw the 
man on board her stand up and face toward 
us. Even at that distance there was some- 
thing vaguely familiar about him, but before 
T had time for a second look, he waved his 
hand and leaped into the sea. At the same 
instant his boat dipped forward and plunged 
head first beneath an advancing billow. For 
a few seconds her sails fluttered white above 
its crest and then she was gone. 

The engine-bell rang and the Sunflower 
slowed down. “Lower away,” ordered the 
first officer, and the cutter slapped neatly 
into the water on the swell of a wave and 
pulled rapidly away toward a black spot. 

Watching through the glasses I saw the 
man hauled on board. ‘Then I turned to the 
eaptain; there was something I wanted to 
assure myself of. 

“Captain,” I questioned, “you have had 
more experience of the sea than I have. 


How long could a boat like that hope to 


live in this sea?” 


BURNING IMAGE. 





BARON HOFSTEIN WAS A COUSIN 
OF THE GERMAN EMPEROR. 


137 


“Depends on crew. Lubber like that 
couldn’t have lived more than half an hour 
longer.” 

The cutter was close alongside now, and 
for the first time I could see plainly the face 
of the rescued man, who sat in the stern 
sheets_as quietly as though he had not been - 
close to death. At the sight of it I started, 
rubbed my eyes and looked again. “By 
Jove!” I muttered. “TI can’t be right!” 

Quickly I hurried to Curly, who through 
all the excitement had re- 
mained in his deck-chair, 
oblivious to everything but 
his own sufferings. 

“Here!” IL cried, grab- 
bing him by the shoulder. 
“Come quick! I want you 
to see something!” 

Curly opened a lack- 
luster eye. “I can't,” he 
groaned, “I can’t.” 

“But you must. Just a 
moment.” I dragged the 
unwilling plainsman to his 
feet and pulled him to the. 
rail. “Look! Quick!” I 
ordered. “Is that the man 
you saw watching me this 
morning?” 

‘“Where?- Yes; -that’s 
him. Ought!” With a 
groan Curly jerked himself 
away and fell back into his _ 
chair in an ecstasy of wo. 

I left him and went for- 
ward thoughtfully. What could this mys- 
tery be that led men to take such risks’ as 
this? For well ] knew that it was by no 
coincidence that Sir Henry Lascelles had 
spied upon me six hours before in Charles- 
ton and now risked his life to throw himself 
in my path. : 

He could have reached this spot only by 
hurrying down the coast by rail, and then 
sailing out to sea in the teeth of thé rising 
storm. To suppose that he had done this 
without reference to our coming was too 
much to ask of chance. 

But I must admit he played his part well. 
When he recognized me, his face lighted up. 
“Ah! By Jove!” he exclaimed, grasping 
my hand. ‘This is a deuced pleasant sur- 
prise. I thought I was booked for Davy 
Jones’s locker, and here I find myself with 
friends. It's the best of luck.” 

I took his hand, but did not smile. 

“Y’m glad you escaped so well, Sir 
Henry,” I returned. “It is a great surprise 
to see you, of course. How does it come 
about?” 

Sir Henry shrugged his shoulders. 

“Nothing but my blessed ignorance, I’m 


138 


afraid,” he laughed. “I thought I knew 
how to sail a boat, and I didn’t, that’s all. 
You can put me ashore, I suppose, can’t 
you? I’m living near here, you know.” 

“Tm afraid I can’t just now.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Don’t give your- 
self any concern about it. The world’s my 
home and I’m satisfied anywhere—though 
it’s jolly cold on deck here in this wind in 
wet clothes.” 

I came out of my dream. - 

““T beg your pardon,” I exclaimed. “If 
you'll come below, I’ll see what I can do for 
you.” 

A few minutes Jater Sir Henry was in- 
stalled in a stateroom and provided with 
plenty of dry clothes, while I went to tall 
to the bishop. 

The unexpected appearance of the man 
greatly embarrassed me; almost I regretted 
that I had not let Captain Martin pass him 
unheeding. Onthe one hand, common cour- 
tesy required me to be civil to one whom I 
had met on an equal footing only a few 
days before, while on the other hand the 
certainty that he was involved in the plot 
that centered around Marian Latour forced 
me to behave to him with the greatest cir- 
cumspection. 

Circumstances compelled me to believe 
that he had come out to sea with the de- 
liberate intention of forcing himself upon the 
yacht; and yet the amazing foolhardiness of 
the scheme made it preposterous to imagine 
that any sane man could have planned it. 

I found the bishop lying quietly in his 
berth, propped around with pillows to pre- 
vent any unnecessary motion. When he saw 
me he did not move, though his eyes smiled 
a welcome. 

“ Ah, my boy!” he said heartily. “ Come 
in. You'll pardon my rising. If I move for 
the next few hours, I won’t answer for the 
consequences. Ups and downs are bad for 
mre at sea. How is your Texas friend?” 

“Curly? I think he’s regretting just now 
that the sheriff didn’t catch him. But I 
came in to tell you something serious. Sir 
Henry Lascelles is on board.” ‘ 

The bishop half rose; then sank suddenly 
back and put his hand to his head. “ How 
the flesh rules us,” he murmured faintly. 
“Tf I were in a normal state, I should be 
horrified, I know; but now I am only wor- 
ried. How did he get on board?” 

I narrated the circumstances. “If it real- 
ly was a put-up job,” I concluded, “it was 
a daring one. If he had missed us, he 
would have been drowned beyond a doubt. 
The sea is getting steadily worse, and Cap- 
tain Martin says his boat couldn’t have lived 
half an hour longer.” 


The bishop looked thoughtful. “ Unless I 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


am mistaken,” he remarked, “his life is of 
small moment to Sir Henry Lascelles. I 
have heard rumors about him. He belongs 
to a great family and is heir to many titles; 
he is not the man a government would 
select for such service. And yet—”’ 

“And yet he is in it most emphatically. 
The question is: what shall I do with him?” 

“Treat him like a gentleman until you 
get a chance to transfer him to some other 





ship. That's the only thing possible.” 
CHAPTER IX. 
Bad News. 
HE next day dawned gloomily. The 
sea was high, the waves rolling by 


in sullen swells, black and foamless. There 
was little wind—only the incessant heaving 
of huge rollers that showed how heavy 
must be the storm that produced them. 

My watch declared that the sun must have 
risen, but there was little sign of its pres- 
ence in_either sea or sky. A dull grayness 
filled the horizon. As far as the eye could 
reach no light was visible, the dark sky melt- 
ing invisibly into the dark sea. = 

Neither Curly nor the bishop appeared on 
deck, though both seemed somewhat less 
miserable than on the day before. Sir 
Henry, however, appeared not to feel the 
motion of the vessel at all. He was out 
before I was and put away a breakfast that 
an old sea-dog might envy. 

I had braced myself the night before to 
meet his expected questioning, only to find 
that it did not come. He talked incessantly, 
but always on indifferent topics, not betray- 
ing the least curiosity concerning the yacht’s 
destination. 

At first this surprised me, but I soon un- 
derstood it—or thought I did—telling myself 
that the baronet knew as much or more than 
I did, and had no need to ask for informa- 
tion. At any rate, he conducted himself with 
absolute propriety, ignoring the many points 
on which he might easily have put an in- 
quisitive finger. 

So the day passed, and another like it 
dawned to find us running down the Florida 
Channel through a sea still high. Noon 
would see us close to Key West, and it he- 
hooved us to be ready to receive the hoped- 
for message if it came. 

Soon after breakfast I sent for the wire- 
less operator, who, although clearly of the 
Germanic race, spoke English with idiomatic 
inaccuracy, and instructed him to get into 
communication with the government station 
on the island and ask for a message for the 
Sunflower. Later, when I visited the little 


Mc 


THE BURNING IMAGE. = 1389 


deck-house where he sat with a microphone 
strapped to his head, I found him idly listen- 
ing, as he explained, to a long string of mes- 
sages that were being transmitted through 
the ether to Key West, but making no attempt 
to declare his own presence. 

“Tt.don’t vas a bit of use to butt in,” he 
declared, when I urged him to call Key 
West. “ This outfit of ours vas on der bum, 
anyway, and Key West ain’t more’n just in 
range. We don’t get no chance to make it 
hear us so long as dot station at Guanta- 
namo vas shouting over our heads. It vas 
bigger than we are and drowns us oudt, und 
if it don’t we would joost interfere with it 
und stop all communication. 

“Tt vas let up pretty soon, I think. These 
shore stations all haf their own hours for 
receiving. Key West vas receive all morn- 
ing and ought to take its turn at sending 
pooty soon. When it change I get von 
chance to break in.” 

I was not satisfied with this. 

“We have no time to lose. If you can’t 
get into communication soon we will have to 
run into Key West,’ I objected, “and we 
can't spare the time. I think you had better 
try to break in.” 

“All right. You vos der boss. Joost as 
soon as der vos a moment’s chance, I try 
ite” 

“Very good. 
begin.” = 

The man laughed, 

“Der vos no trouble about dot,” he an- 
swered. “The wire don’t make no noise 
when it receives; you don’t hear it unless 
you haf der microphone fastened to your 
head. But ven it send—weil! Dieses in- 
strument vos a small one, but it shoot von 
spark a foot long into the air, und a spark is 
yon small flash of lightning. Ven we send 
we makes a noise, yes! You don’t could 
help hearing it.” z 

A little later the flash and rumble of the 
wireless stiddenly began. Sir Henry, seated 
near me on the deck, started and then lis- 
tened attentively—so attentively that I sus- 
pected that he might be reading the message 
as it was ticked off. 

Before I could question him on the sub- 
ject, however, a man came aft with a written 
message from the operator saying that he 
had asked Key West for the desired letter, 
and had been told that there was none. If 
one should arrive it would try to get it to us. 

This was most unsatisfactory, especially 
as I had no means of knowing whether or 
no the operator was playing fair with me. 
Captain Martin had been squelched, but it 
was quite possible, if not probable, that he 
might commit the easy treachery of inter- 
cepting messages. Heartily I wished that an 


Let me know when you 


operator’s training had been included in the 
list of my accomplishments. 

In desperation I turned to Sir Henry. 

“Do you read wireless?” I-asked. 

“Just a little. Anything I can. do for 
your” : es 

“Yes! There is.. My operator is a 
stranger to me and I don’t quite trust him. 
Can you tell me what message he. sent just 
now?” 

“ Easily. He asked Key West if it had a 
message for the Sunflower.” 

“And it said?” ; 

“Why, you've got me there, you know. I 
can read the> sending by the sound, but [- 
can’t hear the receiving to read.” 

“Of course not! It was foolish for me 
to ask.” ; : 

It was foolish in more ways than one. I 
could trust Sir Henry no more than I could 
Captain Martin and his operator. If the lat- 
ter chose to delude me I could not prevent 
them, but, on the whole, I did not really be- 
lieve that they would dare to make any such 
attempt. A : 

The question was whether to trust the 
operator or run into Key West. To do 
the latter would cost us several hours’ 
time and might bring no results. On the 
other hand, every turn of our screw was 
taking us farther from the wireless station, 
and would, I feared, soon carry us beyond 
the range of our small apparatus. 

On this point, however, the operator 
quickly reassured me. ; 

“There don’t vos no danger of dot,” he 
explained; ‘not so far as receiving go, and 
dot is what you want, don’t it? Key West 
haf von great big sender und can send from 
here to Hades. Only we don’t can answer— 
so as they can hear—after we get more as 
ein hundert und fifty miles away.” 

I would have liked to lay the -case before 
the bishop, but I obviously could not do so 
without confessing my doubts concerning 
the operator, and such an admission would 
involve too many others. At last I decided 
to go on and take the chances. Afterall, 
Marian was, presumably, safe on the steam- 
er, even if deprived of the protection of the 
half-breed. 

The chances were that any word from 
her, while comforting, would convey no in- 
formation of real value. Our best course 
was to overtake the Crossjack. 

Acting on this reasoning, I ordered Cap- 
tain Martin to change his. course to the 
southward and head for Cape Catoche, at 
the northeast corner of the Yucatan penin- 
sula. 

Slowly the afternoon wore away, and it 
was after four when the expected message 
came. r 








- 








ON THE AFTER DECK OF THE PIRATE, PLAINLY VISIBLE, STOOD MARIAN LATOUR AND HER 


BROTHER. 


It was dated at Charleston, and was short 
and startling: : 


Marian has wired from Havana that 
Otranto disappeared at Charleston and 
that she has just discovered that Count 

_ Trumanoff is on board the Crossjack. 
She will go on and try to elude him 
later. 


Thrusting the paper into the bishop’s 
hands, I- sprang to my feet and hurried to 
the operating-room. 

“ Ask if that’s all,” I ordered. 

“T haf ask. But Key West 
nothing but repeat the message. 
can’t feach it no more.” 

“All right!” I turned to the bishop. 
“This spells danger, of course,” I said. 

The bishop bowed his white head gravely. 

“Very serious danger, Mr. Scott,” he an- 
swered, “Pray Heaven. we may overtake 


don’t do 
We don't 


“the Crossjack before it is too late.” 





= CHAPFER —X. 
A Cry for Help. 


, NOTHER morning dawned dark and 
. leaden. Far down on the southern 
horizon a gray cloud, denser than the rest. 


of the sky, showed where Yucatan lay. The- 


end of the first stage of our journey was 
near. 


“PRANK! FRANK!” SHE CALLED, 


“SAVE ME! SAVE ME!” 


Eight bells struck as I watched, and I 
went aft to meet my guests at breakfast. 
All were there, though Curly looked as 
white around the mouth as his sun-burnt 
face would permit. 

“Yucatan is in sight,’ I announced. “We 
are running down on it in fine style and 
ought to be very close to Cape Catoche by 
the time we finish breakfast. After that we 
may pick up the Crossjack at any moment. 
I’ve given orders to the operator to keep 
calling her at intervals, and I guess she’ll 
answer sooner or later.” : 

Sir Henry asked no questions. He knew ~* 
—for I had made no secret of a fact that 
must soon become patent—that we were try- 
ing to overtake the Crossjack in order to 
take off Miss Latour and her brother, but 
he had made no comment thereon. Whether 
this arose merely from good breeding or 
from an already perfect understanding of 
the case, I no longer asked myself. 

When we went on deck, after breakfast, 
the coast of Yucatan was in plain sight, 
and for six hours we raced southward 
along it, with straining eyes and nerves on 
edge. Except for some of those during the 
months while I was awaiting trial, those 
six hours were the longest I have ever 


spent in my life. Not even the sight of the 


ruins of a great prehistoric temple, supposed 
to be dedicated to the worship of the sun, — 
could divert me for long, although they 


THE BURNING IMAGE. 


stood in plain sight on a jutting point of 
land. 

At last the end came. At half past two 
a man came running along the deck. 

“You're wanted at the wireless, sir,” he 
cried. ‘ Something’s happening, sir.” 

With the bishop and Curly at my heels, I 
raced forward to the little operating-room. 
Within, the operator sat at his table, with 
the receiver strapped to his head, steadily 
writing down the words that came through 


the skies. Without stopping, he pushed for- 
ward a cable form. On it I read: 
“Help! Help! Help! For Heaven's 


sake, help!” 

A blank line on the paper showed where 
the operator had sent his answer. 

Then came other messages from the un- 
seen vessel. 

“This is the Crossjack. 
Are you a war-ship?” 

“Everything is wrong. 
stopped by a pirate.” 

“A torpedo-boat showing no flag fired 
across our bows. Masked man wigwagged 
we must give up two of our passengers. 
We refused and boat fired shell through us. 
Killed nobody, but showed what to expect. 
Fifteen minutes allowed to obey. Where 
are you?” 

“A young lady, 
brother.” 

“Great Heavens, Marian!” 
bishop who spoke. 

“Tell them help is coming,” I directed. 
“Tell them not to give up Miss Brown un- 
der any circumstances.” 

The bishop laid his trembling hand on 
the operator’s arm. 

“Tell them,” he added, “that if they give 
her up, they doom her to death or lifelong 
imprisonment.” 

In a moment the answer came: 

“What can we do? We are helpless. 
Can count forty men on torpedo-boat. Fif- 
teen minutes nearly up.” 

“Ask them where they are,” I cried. 

“Close to Yucatan coast,” came the an- 
swer; “latitude 21 deg. 15 min. Point Jean 
is about five miles north of us.” 

“Tell. them we are five miles north of 
Point Jean and ten miles from them. Will 
reach them in half an hour.” 

Without a word, the operator pushed over 
to me two more messages. : 

“Time is up. Torpedo-boat has her guns 
trained on us.” 

“Shot from enemy killed one man and 
wounded another. Pirate signals he will 
use torpedo next time. We must surrender 
the girl. She herself insists on it. -Pirate 
promises not to harm her or her brother.” 


Who are you? 


We have been 


Miss Brown, and her 


It was the 


141 
“Tell them to delay,” I ordered. “Tell 
them we are coming fast.” 

There followed a minute or two of ago- 
nized suspense, and then the answer came 
through the ether again: 

“Miss Brown and brother are in pirate’s 
boat. A Russian nobleman, Count Truman- 
off, has gone with them. Swears -he will 
protect them.” ; 

“Tell them the baron is an enemy, an ac- 
complice of the pirate,” I cried. “Stop 
him at any cost.” 

Again and again the operator called. The 
great spark quivered and rumbled, but no 
sound came back from the void. “ They 
don’t answer,” he said at last. 

I turned and found Captain Martin at my 
heels. 

“ Captain,” I ordered, “call your men to 
quarters. We'll stop that pirate or die 
fOr= ite” 

Like wildfire the news spread among the 
crew, and with a cheer they sprang to their 
stations, cast loose the guns, and ran a tor- 
pedo into the tube. 

“Be ready, but don’t fire till ordered,” I 
directed. ‘‘ There’s a young lady on board 
that ship who must not be harmed.” 

Point Jean was very near now. Once 
round it, the ocean for miles would be in 
plain view. Probably the Crossjack would 
be visible, but the whereabouts of the pirate 
could only‘be guessed. If she had been run- 
ning toward us, she would be very close: if 
away, then far down in the distance, almost 
below the horizon. ; 

Nearer and nearer loomed the point as 
the Sunflower raced toward it: Well be- 
yond it rose the black shape of Farad Rock; 
but the chart showed deep water between it 
and the land, and into this channel Captain 
Martin shaped his course. 

Nearer and nearer we rushed. The head- 
line slipped suddenly past, the view widened 
out, and a yell went up from the Sun- 
flower as the long gray shape of a torpedo- 
boat came shooting through: the waves di- 
rectly toward us. 

It was too late to check our speed, too 
late to risk trying to pass. But one thing 
remained, and both captains did it at once. 
Simultaneously they swung around to the 
east, traveling on converging curves, and 
stood away not a stone’s throw apart. 

On the after deck of the pirate, plainly 
visible, stood Marian Latour and her 
brother. Near them were Baron Hofstein 
and Count Trumanoff. As I looked, Marian 
stretched her arms toward me across the 
water. 

“Frank! Frank!” she called. 
Save me!” 


“Save me! 


(To be continued.) 


ce i : JINNER AT $100 A PLATE. 
| Rare Delicacies Served at a Philadelphia Banquet, Topped 
Off with Wine at Eight Dollars a Bottle and Cigars 
Ranging in Price from Fifty Cents to a 
Dollar and a-Half Each. ; 


F you were willing to spend a hundred dollars on your dinner some 
night, what would you order? In a Philadelphia hotel recently a 
dinner was given to a large party of New York visitors, the proprietor 
charging that sum a plate for the repast. This is what he gave his 

patrons in return: 
: Cantaloupe a la Penn 


Tortue verte 
Potage a la Reine 


Hors-d’Oeuvre 


Truites de Ruisseau a la Meuniere 
Citronelle 


Bouchees Lucullus 


Agneau de lait roti 
Petits Pois Nouveaux 


Sorbet Roseben 


Asperges splendides Polonaise 


Gibier sur canape 
Piments farcis 


Salade Suedoise 
Batons de fromage 


Peches a la Bellevue 
Croquants 


Cafe Special 


Cocktails Madere Chateau Yquem 
George Goulet brut 
Fine Champagne, 1811 
Liqueurs 


Cigarettes Petits Ducs 
Cigars 


The Madeira cost eight. dollars a bottle; the white wine, Chateau 
Yquem, five dollars. Strangely enough, the champagne was the cheapest, _ 
costing only four. The fine champagne was not, as one might judge 
from the name, an especially excellent kind of champagne, but brandy * 
ninety-seven years old. The cigars ranged in price from a dollar and a 
half to fifty cents apiece. 


= 


Z 








“T WAS A GENUINE HERO. 





My WT Hare 


THIS DINNER WAS ATTENDED BY ALL THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE ‘SUN.'” 


THE HOT “TIP” THAT MADE AN OLD- 
TIME “SUN” REPORTER BEAT IT. 
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 


BY W. W. 


: HEN I first entered New York I 

= : was in my twenty-third year, a 
; / fresh New Englander, and over- 

: : flowing with New England ideas. 
My literary work at this time had been 
seonfined to the production of press notices 

for traveling theatrical companies, to sev- 
eral. of which I had been attached as ad- 
vance agent. But I had wearied of that 

kind of life and had decided to enter the 
newspaper field, beginning | as a reporter 

and rising, as 1 was sure that T would rise, 


a1 L Ww 





AUSTIN. 


Pe 


to the position of editor-in-chief of some 


great daily newspaper. 

I was full of hope and inspired with lofty 
ambitions when I entered the city-room of 
the New York Sun, late in the year 1860, 
and confronted the view of a burly man, 
with a 
business known to him. 


and make my 


This was jolly old “ Bill” Young, as the — 


“boys” used to call him, the city editor 


of the paper, and he received me with the 
52S et a ee ees : 





genial expression on his chubby face 
which gave me courage to approach him 














~ swered: 


CHARLES A. DANA SENT A NICE LETTER OF RE- 
GRET, ON ACCOUNT OF A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 


greatest affability. I preferred my request 
to become a member of his staff, but he 
shook his head and smiled sadly, as he an- 
“Sorry, but all full, my boy.” 

My disappointment was such that I could 


not utter a word in response, but, turning 


my back, I started for the door by which 
I had gained entrance. Before I reached 
it, however, old “Bill” spoke again, and 
this time it was to a more encouraging 


effect. 


I took a seat. 


“Well,” he said, “I'll give you a chance. 
Sit down.” 

My heart fairly jumped to my mouth as 
I waited patiently for my 
first assignment, and it was not long in 
coming. The daughter of George Law, the 
head: of the Eighth Avenue line of horse- 
cars, and one of the wealthiest men of the 
city at that time, was to be married on 
that day, and I was sent to report the wed- 
ding. Visions of columns of space and 
unlimited literary glory flashed before my 
eyes as I started on my first “job.” It was 
what was considered a “swell” wedding, 
and I laid myself out to do my best with it. 

On my return from the ceremony I wrote 
a full column and a half, descriptive of 
every detail that I had noted. The open- 


jing sentence of this, my first reportorial 
achievement, I can remember as distinctly 


as though it had been written yesterday. 
It began: 
- “ Another ripple has been created on the 


~ surface of Murray Hill society.” Follow- 


could scarcely have understood. 


~My great effort was duly turned over to 






ing this, came a long series of mixed meta- - 
‘phors and-long words, until the story was 
‘one which the highest-bred college man- 


“Doc” Wood, known to the newspaper - 
- =; 


world as the “Great 
American Condenser,” 
and the next morning 
it appeared in a shape 
which made it necessary 
for me to scan the Sun 
with a microscope in 
order to find the “ stick- 
ful” to which it had 
been reduced, under the 
comprehensive heading, 
“George Law’s Daugh- 
ter Married.” 

It was a terrible blow 
to my pride, but the 
“Doc” was never again obliged to over- 
work his condensing abilities in the handling 
of my “copy.” I learned the lesson at 
once, and from that time I told my stories 
in plain English, and without the use of 
unnecessary words. 

This was the beginning of my career as 
a New York reporter, and it was a very 
good beginning, although I did not realize 
it as I réad the mangled story which was 
the result of my first day’s work. But 
“Bill” Young gave me encouragement in 
his own genial way, and from that time I 
advanced rapidly in my chosen profession. 

By a fortunate assignment to investigate 
the “green-goods ” swindle, which was just 
then coming into prominence, I was enabled 
to swindle the green-goods man _ himself 
out of about twenty dollars in good United 
States bills, and I described my experience 
with him as that of the “Green Boy of the 
Sun,’ with the result that I became known 
by that name among newspaper men. 

Mr. Bowman, the then dramatic editor, 
also took a fancy to me, and allowed me to 
write the Sunday theatrical notes and to 
do a criticism occasionally, which not only 
added to my compensation, but enhanced my 
growing reputation as a newspaper man. 
Altogether, I had made an opening for my- 
self which was very creditable to the green 
New Englander, and I was naturally proud 
of my Sticcess. 

In the fall of 1871 a young Englishman 
was attached to the reportorial staff of the 
Sun, who at once became a favorite chum 
of all the reporters. He appeared to take 
more notice of me than of anybody else, 
and we soon became very intimate. I told 
him all my hopes, and all my ambitions. I 
was becoming very much interested in the 
dramatic part of my work, and I confided 
to him my growing hope of ultimately be- 
coming a real dramatic editor, whom the 
players would respect and fear, 
maker of their fortunes. He talked much — 
about the pleasures of reportorial life in 
London, and I confided to him my desire 


= 





as=.the-——— 





AN OLD-TIME ” SUN” REPORTER'S STORY. — 


to go to England at some future a: and 
to follow my business in that foreign land. 
He encouraged this idea, and we passed 
many a pleasant hour discussing the matter 
in our confidential chats. 

One morning this young man came_to me 


in the office, holding in his hand a letter, 


which he tapped suggestively as he ap- 
proached. 

“How would you like to go to London, 
old man, and be a British dramatic editor?” 
he asked, a broad smile playing around his 
handsome mouth. “Just read this. I’ve 
just received it in my mail.” 

I took the letter from his outstretched 
hand and read it. It was from the editor 
of the London Echo, written on the letter- 
heads of that paper, and told my friend 
that the dramatic editor of the Echo was 
about to be married and to resign his po- 
sition. Could my friend suggest the name 
of any American dramatic editor who was 
competent to fill the coming vacancy? If 
so, the Echo would be delighted to engage 
him, as it was anxious to introduce the 
American style of criticism in London. 

My blood fairly tingled as I read these 
words. 

The salary offered was not large, only 
three pounds a week, which was equiva- 
lent to about fifteen dollars in American 
money. I was making more than that on 
the Sun; but living in London, 
especially in those early days, 
was cheap, and the “glory” of 
being imported from the United 
States to teach the “ blarsted 
Britisher” what dramatic art 
really was, or should be, was an 
inducement which no young 
man of my ambition could re- 
sist. I eagerly. offered myself 
to fill the vacant position, and 
my friend promised to write to 
the editor regarding it at once. 
Later he said he had done so. 

Four long weeks passed be- 
fore any answer came from 
London to his communication; 
but when it came it was favor- 
able to my wishes. The editor 
of the Echo informed my friend 

~ that I must sail at once, as the 
paper could not be without a 
dramatic editor for a single day, 
and its present one was to be 
married in the latter part of 
October, and to leave imme- 
diately after the ceremony. I 
sat down at once and wrote a 
letter to the editor of the Echo, 
announcing that I would sail 
for London on the following 








Saturday, and be on hand in time to take 


the place of the resigning member of the 


staff. Then I announced my intention to 
Mr. Young and the reporters of the Sum. 
The news, of course, created a good deal 
of excitement, and I was a genuine hero 
for the few days which remained of my 
service on the paper. Amos J. Cummings, 


the managing editor, and who was recog- 


nized as the Prince of Bohemians, arranged 
for a dinner to be given me at the old 
Sturtevant House, Broadway and Twenty- 
Ninth Street, where the Breslin Hotel now 
stands, on the night preceding my sailing. 
This dinner was attended by all the edi- 
torial staff of the Sun, except Charles A. 
Dana, who sent a nice letter of regret, on 
account of a previous engagement. 

Mr. Cummings secured for me from 
Whitelaw Reid, 
the Tribune, now United States ambassa- 
dor to the Court of St. James, a letter of 
introduction to George W. Smalley, the 
London correspondent of the Tribune. 
Presents of no great value, but very dear 


to me on account of the spirit which 


prompted them, were made by the reporters 
and many of the editors, and with a heart 
glowing with honest pride I sailed for 
Glasgow on the Anchor line steamship 


145 


then managing editor of 





Columbia, cheered by the entire reportorial 3 


staff of the Sun, which gathered on the pier. — 


‘SUDDENLY I WAS AWAKENED 
BY A CLAMMY SENSATION 
AROUND MY TOES. I LOOKED 
DOWN, AND THE FLOOR OF 
“THE COMPARTMENT WAS 
FILLED WITH WATER, 


er 











— water. 


~ through it. 


‘the street. 





: a to Tries: forty years ago 
were not what they are to-day. A ten or 





twelve day passage was a very swift one, 
and ‘the ship which made it was accounted 
a greyhound of the seas. 


The Columbia 
pushed her way through the waves in gal- 


= lant style, under the command of Captain 


Small, a good- natured Scotchman, and made 
her dock in Glasgow in thirteen days from 


her date of sailing. 


In London at Last. 


At Glasgow I took a compartment on the 


‘train for London, and it was on this trip 
that my first ‘unpleasant explerience oc- 
curred. The day was cold, and I secured 


one of the foot-warmers, which were 


features of English railroad travel in those 
days. 
-piece of furniture, which was simply a 


I fell asleep with my feet on this 


long can filled with hot water. Suddenly 


I was awakened by a clammy sensation 


around my toes. I looked down, and the 
floor of the compartment was filled’ with 
The cork of my foot-warmer had 
become loose, and the water had poured 
out, making the compartment more uncom- 
fortable than it would have been without 


- the warmer. There was no help for it, and 


I was obliged to suffer the inconvenience 


until the express-train made its next stop. 


Otherwise, my trip to London was a 
pleasant one. There was no more sleep for 
me, of course, but the Scotch scenery of- 
fered picturesque views as the train rushed 
We arrived at Euston Station, 
London, just as the sun was disappearing 
below the horizon, and I secured a room 
and “attendance,” which included a candle 
for lighting my apartment, at the Euston 
Square Hotel. I was weary and excited, 


‘and determined to postpone my visit to the 


Echo office until the morrow, and go 
straight to bed. This I did, leaving orders 
to be called at nine o’clock. 

I was soon sunk in a profound sleep, 
from which I did not awaken until a knock 
at my door and the words “nine o'clock” 
aroused me. I jumped out of bed, and 
found that absolute darkness still prevailed. 
“The confounded London fog,’ I muttered, 
and lighting my candle I hurried into my 
clothes as rapidly as I could. 

T had read much about the London fog, 
and my friend had warned me about it be- 
fore I started on my trip, but his descrip- 
tion had given me no idea of the condition 
which actually confronted me as I reached 
The gas-lamps were burning, 
and it was impossible to see a yard ahead 


of one, except by ‘their aid. A shambling 


policeman came along, and 1 ventured to 
ask Sao directions to the Echo office. 


He 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


looked sideways at me for a moment be-- 


fore he deigned to give me any answer. 
Then, having apparently satisfied himself 
that I was neither drunk nor crazy, he said: 
“The Echo office is just over yonder, but 
you won't find anybody there at this time 


‘of night.” 


The Echo was an evening newspaper, 
and, as matter of fact, it was ten o’clock at 
night instead of ten in the morning. My 
order to be called at nine had been inter- 


-preted by the hotel-clerk to be nine o’clock 


in the evening, and so I had been hustled 
out of my warm bed at that hour to make a 
fool of myself before the majesty of the 
London ~police force. I said nothing, but, 
muttering a denunciation of English hotel- 
clerks, meekly crept back to my room and 
went to bed again. My first experience of 
the London “fog” had been a decided 
failure, from a romantic point of view. 

The next morning I found my way to 
the Echo office, and here a disappointment 
was awaiting me which would have crushed 
any but a Bohemian reporter of New York. 
The editor of that paper received me very 
courteously, but there was a far-away ex- 
pression in his-face which suggested any- 
thing but hospitality. 

Yes, he had received my letter, an- 
nouncing that I would sail, and thinking it 
might have been addressed wrong, had sent 
it over to the London Fra office, that being 
a dramatic paper, and the one most likely 
to have entered into such an arrangement 
as had been made with me. No, their dra- 
matic editor had not resigned, and he had 
been married for years. Indeed, he had a 
promising crop of children, ranging in age 
from two to ten years. No, he did not 
know my friend who had sent me on this 
fool’s errand, nor could he understand 
where or how he had secured the letter- 
heads of the Echo. He was probably some 
swindler, who had an interest in getting 
me out of New York. Sorry, but he had 
nothing to offer me in the way of newspa- 
per work. I might be able to work my 
passage home on some of the steamers as 
a coal-heaver, or in some other capacity, 
but he could not give me much hope in that 
prospect. 


A Letter That Came in Handy. 





If tears were a weakness to which New _ 


York Bohemians were given, they certainly 
would have flowed now. But the spirit of 
Bohemianism has no knowledge of such 
weakness. I pushed them back, and made 


something like a dignified retreat from the ~ 


office of the Echo. I went back to my 


hotel, and turned the situation over in my 
“mind. I was in London, the largest city 








“AN OLD-TIME "SUN” REPORTER'S STORY. 


of the world, with just 
$1.95 in my pockets, 
and without @ single 
friend to whom [ could 
appeal for sympathy or 
aid. I had been sent 
there by a fiend of a re- 
porter whose object I 
could not fathom, and 
who was now, probably 
laughing at the succesg 


of his plot for dis- 
posing of arival. What 
should i do to meet 


these conditions ? 

Like a flash of sun- 
light the letter given 
me by Whitelaw Reid 
came to my mind, Mr, 
Smalley was an Amera 
ican, at all events, and 


he was a newspaper 
man. He would. laugh 
at my simplicity, na 


doubt, in allowing my~ 
self to be made the 
victim. of this plot, but 
he would help mte, if 
he could. If jumped to 
my feet and made my 
way to the London 
office of the Tribune 
in Pall Mall. 

Mr. Smalley was in 
the office, and after I 
had sent my letter to 
him, he received me. 
He was a kindly faced 
man, and to his sym- 
pathetic ears [ poured 
out the tale of my mis- 
fortunes. As I had 
supposed, he was in- 
clined to laugh at my 
folly, but. he atoned for 
this by extending me 
his aid. He could give me work, he said, at 
the salary [ had been expecting to receive, for 
two or three weeks, or until he could make 
some arrangement for sending me home. 
He placed me at work, cutting slips from 
the London papers, and editing and heading 
them, so that they would be ready to place 


in type as soon as they reached the New 


York office of the Tribune. 

At this work I labored for three weeks, 
and at the end of that time I took passage 
on the North-German Lloyd steamship 
Hansa, sailing from Southampton. My 
_ passage was paid for by my note of hand; 

for the amount due, to be redeemed in 
New York at my earliest convenience. 

The Hansa was one of the largest of 


> 





“THE ‘BCHO’ OFFICE IS JUST OVER YONDER, BUT YOU WQN*? FIND ANY- 
BODY THERE AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT.” 








the North-German line steamships in 1870. 
Compared with the ocean greyhounds of 
to-day, she was an insignificant vessel, with 
accommodations which, though they were 
palatial forty years ago, would be scorned 
by the ocean traveler of. to-day. Her 
passenger list numbered about sixty persons. 
in the first and second cabins and steerage. — 
She started off in grand style, and it was 

confidently expected that she would be in 
New York within twelye days, which was 


the average time of her trips. She did not 


reach her pier in this country, however, for 


-a month, and lack of news from her caused 


great worry and excitement, not only to 
the friends of passengers on hoard, but to 


the company owning her. — 


a > = ao 























g 





__ the waves. 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


148 _ 


After being six days out from Southamp- 
_ton, one stormy night the rudder-post broke, 
—~and she was at the mercy of the winds and 
The passengers were of a class, 
as a rule, that does not give way to causeless 

panic. They had faith in the Hansa, and 
faith in her captain, and saw in the disaster 
only an unavoidable delay in reaching their 
homes and their business. To make the 


_ passage to New York in her disabled con- 


dition was manifestly impossible for the 
Hansa. Her only hope was to make some 


the Sun, by the same mail. The result was 
that the Sun had a “beat” which reassured 
the friends of the passengers before the 
agent had received the captain’s report. 
The mail arrived in New York at night, 
after the North-German Lloyd office had 
been closed, but the newspaper office was 
open, and my report was hurried into type, 
and appeared in the morning issue. Indeed, 
the agent of the Hansa read the story in 
the Sun, on his way down-town to his office, 
and confirmed it by the report sent to him. 





THE EDITOR OF THAT PAPER RECEIVED ME VERY COURTEOUSLY, BUT THERE WAS A FAR- 
AWAY EXPRESSION-IN HIS FACE WHICH SUGGESTED ANYTHING BUT HOSPITALITY. 


~ port where the damage could be repaired, 


and then continue her voyage. Two weeks 
after the accident, she was brought safely 
to anchor at St. Johns, Newfoundland. 
Here the authorities refused to allow any- 
body to land, assuming that smallpox had 
broken out among the passengers. Repair- 
ers, however, came to the steamer and 
patched her up, so that she could make the 
trip to New York, which involved another 
week of delay. 

In the ‘meantime the passengers amused 
themselves on board as best they could. 
The captain sent a brief report of the 
trouble to the New York agent, and I sent 
a detailed account of the entire voyage to 


“never appeared there after that. 


The result of this “beat” to me per- 
sonally was gratifying, considering the 
losses I had sustained by my trip to Europe. 
When I reached the Sun office, after the 
arrival of the Hansa, I found my note for 
my passage monty awaiting me, canceled by 
the agent. This was the only piece of good 
fortune for me during the entire trip. 

The man who had played this confidence 
game on me remained in the Sum office as 
a reporter until the arrival of my letter 
describing the disaster to the Hansa. He 
T have been 
vainly trying for forty years to fathom the 
mystery of his motive in sending me, prac- 
tically penniless, on this long trip. 





WELL: 


Ons 
there is 
nothing very 
Sit rao ee 

about a policeman 
dragging a burglar 
into court, but how 
about this: 

Officer Horan 
bobbed up in front 
of Magistrate Zel- 
ler’s desk in New 
York with Jimmy 
Manning, a sharp- 
eyed, small-for-his- 
age East Side boy: 

“T found him on 
the top floor of the 
house next door,” 
said the cop, “ with 
these on him”— 
here he held up a 
big steel jimmy and 
a revolver. “The 
neighbors were hol- 
lerin’ burglars, and 
I rushed up.” 

-“ What were you 
— with those things?” asked the magis- 
trate. 

“Just burglarin’,” answered James. 

“Why?” went on his inquisitor. 

“ Why—for de stuff. ‘Den I'd sell it or 
hock it.” 

“House of Refuge,” said his honor. 

“Tanks,” said James, and, he was led 
away. 


“t POUND HIM ON THE TOP 
FLOOR OF THE HOUSE NEXT 
DOOR,” SAD THE COP, 
“ WITH THESE ON HIM.” 


st 


ING EDWARD may be the “first gen- 
tleman in Europe,” as Mr. Roosevelt 
is the most eminent citizen of the United 
States, but Earle W. Monroe is the first 
father in Chicago, if not in the country. 
Mr. Monroe is the father of twenty-eight 
children, though nobody but his friends and 
relatives knew it until the school census 
taker came along the other day. The cen- 
sus gentleman was in search of children 
more than five and less than eighteen years 
of age. The mother did not quite under- 
stand at first and brought out a child in arms 
and a two-year-old. 
~~ “Wasn't Mr. Monroe any youngeters: who | 
are more than five years old?” asked the 
enumerator, as he reached for his hat. 
“Tndeed he has,” came the answer. 


in 








-come very Sree: 
SS See: 


CAN YOU | 
BEAT THAT | 


“ How mace 

* Twenty-six.” 

The gentleman 
was brought to with 
strong restoratives. 
Then it was careful- 
ly explained that 
while Mr. Monroe 
had been  twenty- 
eight times a father, 
twelve of the chil- 
dren are dead. 

Mr. Monroe, who 
is sixty-five years. 
old, 
ried three 
His first child, a 
boy, was born in 
1866. The twenty- 
seventh babe, also a 
boy, was born Janu- 
ary 4, 
last baby, only a few 
weeks old, is a girl. 

The present Mrs. 
Monroe is the mother 
of thirteen of the 
children. 

Abram Gotofsky, of Troy 


P. S.—Mrs. 
Hills, New Jersey, has the Chicago gentle- 
man beaten a block in the matter of unusual 
and remarkable parenthood. Mrs. Gotofsky 
is only thirty-two years old. But she is the 
mother of thirty children, fourteen of whom 


are living. 
one bunch of triplets, 
along came quadruplets. The rest of. the 
children were born one at a time. 

Mrs. Gotofsky was born in Russian Poland, 
and was married in 1892, Wher they began 
housekeeping her husband, who is a farmer, 
had only eighteen acres of lamd He has 
added twenty acres to his farm while adding 
thirty members to his family, and his land is 
all paid for. 

at j 


ECIL WRENN, one of the bright par- 
ticular shining stars of Scotland Yard 
when working at his trade, had a day off in 
New York last month. The next day after- 
ward he was two hundred “dollars poorer and 
his roars could be heard from the Battery to 
Grant’s Tomb. 


has been mar-— 
times. 


1906. ‘Fhe — 


She has had eight pairs of twins, | = 
and a few days ago ~ 


Wrenn met a stranger in his hotel who, 


after borrowing a match, meercien 9 to be= 




















~ two were soon as_ brothers. 














SIBOe = 


_ He displayed a roll of yellow boys, and the 
They took a 
walk, and in a West Side saloon began 
matching for the drinks. Wrenn had his roll 
of two hundred dollars in his hand, when a 
big chap rushed in, grabbed the roll and 
shouted: 

~* You're all pinched for gambling!” 

With the roll in his hand the stranger left 
“to call the wagon.” He is still calling it, 
although Wrenn and several New York 
sleuths looked for him in vain. 


& 


OSTMASTER WYMAN, of_St. Louis, 

: Missouri, had reached his home, 

donned smoking-jacket and slippers and was 

preparing to rest when his telephone rang. 

_ A young woman of his acquaintance was on 

the wire. She had mailed a letter and wanted 
to get it back. 

“Tam very tired,’ said Mr. Wyman. 
“Can't you write another letter and tell your 
correspondent to disregard the first?” 

“No, no, that would not do at all,’ she 
said. “He—he would not understand. It 
is very important, Mr. Wyman, and I wish 
you would help me, even if you are tired.” 

The postmaster had a sentimental streak 
in him and the hesitating reference to ‘“‘ he” 
won. He told the girl to go to the mail-box 
and to wait there for him, and that if a mail- 
carrier came along to ask him to wait, too. 
Then Mr. Wyman walked ten blocks to the 
mail-box, where he found the young woman 
on guard. 

They waited for half an hour until the 





WRENN MET A STRANGER IN HIS HOTEL WHO, 
AFTER BORROWING A MATCH, PROCEEDED 
TO BECOME VERY FRIENDLY. 


2 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


collector arrived and opened the box. The 
girl had described her letter, and as there 
was not much mail in the box she had no 
difficulty identifying it. She grabbed it in 
her hand, patted it lovingly, and then kissed 
it fondly. : 

Then she dropped it back in the box and 
said: “Oh, I thank you so much. I forgot 
to—to—er, I forgot.” 

a 


HAT great feminine beauty is sometimes 
not only dangerous to possess, but peril- 

ous to behold, has again been demonstrated. 
A Cincinnati man broke his neck looking at 





SHE GRABBED IT IN HER HAND, PATTED IT LOV- 
INGLY, AND THEN KISSED IT FONDLY. 


a pretty girl, and a New York salesgirl lost 
her place in a department store because her 


- beauty blocked the aisles, tied up the wheels 


of commercey and generally interfered with 
business. ; 

Joseph Zins, of Cincinnati, was saunter- 
ing along the street when he suddenly be- 
came aware of the fact that around the cor- 
ner had just whisked a stunning-looking girl, 
clad in one of those gowns that made Paris 
sit up and take notice. Desiring to over- 
look nothing, he turned his head quickly to 
get a better view. 

The quick turn killed him. He was 
suffering a little from tuberculosis of the 


vertebra, anyway, and the lurch broke his — 


neck. : 

Miss Rosie Trimble’s great beauty did not 
cause any one to fracture his spinal cord, 
but it deprived her of her position in a New 
York department store. When she saw cus- 


_tomers and other clerks hovering about the 


lace counter where she was employed, she 
resorted to every appropriate means to pre- 











DESIRING TO OVERLOOK NOTHING, HE TURNED HIS 
HEAD QUICKLY TO GET A BETTER VIEW. 
THE QUICK TURN KILLED HIM. 


vent unsought admiration, She discarded 
her ‘jewelry, had her hair arranged in simple 
fashion, dressed in the oldest clothes she 
had, entered and left the store by 
a rear door. 

But all of these things were of 
no use. She was a good sales- 
girl, but the management was 
finally compelled to let her go 
because, through no fault of her 
own, she hampered the work of 
the store. 

a 


NE way to prevent thieves 
from stealing buggies is to 
take all the nuts off the buggies. 
Theodore A. Linton, of Raynham, 
New Jersey, tried this plan and 
it worked. No  pilferer made 
away with the family vehicle. 
But the trial of the scheme shook 
Mrs. Linton up quite a bit, and 
any buggy-snatchers that they 
may catch from-now on will be 
caught some other way. 
This is how it happened: 
The supper dishes had been 
washed, everything about the 
house was in ship-shape, and the 


WELL, CAN YOU BEAT THAT! 





thought came to Mrs. Linton that it was 


prayer-meeting night. The old horse was 
kicking up his heels in the orchard, just 
aching to take somebody to town, and it did 
not take Mrs. Linton long to hitch him up. 

Mrs. Linton, be it said, knew nothing 
about the nuts having been taken off the 
buggy. This valuable piece of information 
came to her later. She began to suspect 
the truth when one of the front wheels came 
off. When the northeast corner of the 
buggy also dropped, she was practically cer- 
tain that something was wrong. Any re- 
maining doubts that she had on the subject 
were dissipated when.the other two wheels 
rolled away and left her sitting in the wheel- 


less buggy-box. 
a 


HE best financiers are a unit in the opin- 
ion that no man who has property to 
dispose of should die without making a will. 
Tobias Brubaker, of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, 
took the advice in time, and after his death 
the other day the relatives found one of 
those “I-do-bequeath” papers all drawn up 
and signed. a 
The will disposed of an estate valued at 
three dollars, the expenses of settlement 
amounting to two dollars and fifty cents. 
Of the remaining half-dollar, Seventeen cents 
went to the widow, six cents to each of 
three children, and five cents to each of three 
other children. Furthermore, a trustee was 
named to manage the widow’s portion. 


WHEN THE NORTHEAST CORNER OF THE BUGGY ALSO DROPPED, 
SHE WAS PRACTICALLY CERTAIN THAT SOME-— 
THING WAS WRONG. 





151 


| 
























R. ABRAM CLEVERLY, attorney 
at law, dealer in real estate in gen- 
eral and seller of choice lots at 
Sea View Extension in particular, 

smiled genially as he crossed Main Street. 

“Roberts!” he exclaimed. ‘ Welcome 
again to Hardyport! You’re here for the 
season, I take it?” 

Roberts’s pale English face, close shaven 
except for the narrow side-whiskers which 
marked his position as butler, showed em- 
barrassment and possibly a faint flush of 
resentment at the effusive greeting. He 


met Mr. Cleverly’s eager grip with a limp 
hand. 

“Yes, sir. We're back to the seashore 
again.” 


Mr. Cleverly seemed not at all abashed 
_. by the other’s coolness. 

“Delighted to see you, Roberts! 
you honor the occasion? You 
really, I insist, Roberts!” 

“Only ginger ale for me, thank you, sir,” 
said Roberts, as he found himself seated 
at a small table on the veranda of the 
pavilion into which the energetic Mr. 
Cleverly had dragged him. 

“On the water wagon, Roberts? 
resolution, Roberts! Very good! TI believe 
Judge Burr doesn’t approve of drinking 
among his employees, does he?” 

uy He does not like his servants to use 


e 


2 liquor.” 7 ay 


Won't 
must— 


Good 


SS 


“ROBERTS !” 
EXCLAIMED 
THE LAWYER 
SUDDENLY, 
“T Got you 
OFF NICELY 
THAT TIME 
LAST SUMMER, 
DIDN’T 1?” 





there was a distinct 


For some reason, 
blush on the butler’s cheeks. 


” 


“Um-m!” Mr. Cleverly sipped his drink, 
and for a few moments seemed to be con- 
sidering something. 

“Ts Judge Burr in town now?” 

“He is over at the cottage, I presume. 
We arrived Tuesday. This is my afternoon 
off.” 

“Roberts!” exclaimed the lawyer sud- 
denly, “I got you off nicely that time last 
summer, didn’t I?” 

There was an expression almost of ‘Pain 
on Roberts's face. 

“T suppose you did, sir.” 

“Drunk and disorderly was the charge, 
wasn’t it?” 

Ves 

“T did you quite a good turn, Roberts.” 

“T paid you for it,” returned the butler 
with some spirit. 

“Only the fee, Roberts.. Only the fee for 
my services as attorney. You didn’t pay me 
for keeping the matter out of the newspapers. 


Nothing was paid for the care I took that 


Judge Burr shouldn't know, was there?” 
“T suppose not. But if I owe you any- — 
thing, I’m willing to pay—” ; 
“You mistake me, Roberts. You mistake 
me. I did you a favor out of pure friend- 
ship. Pure friendship ! 
can do me a little kindness in return.” — 
The Englishman was silent. ~ : 


Now, possibly, you 





BY PERMISSION OF THE BUTLER. 


“Tt’s this way: You know the Widow 
Barney?” 

“The lady whose husband went to school 
with Judge Burr? Yes, I know her.” 

“That’s the one. She is a client, or, I 
might say, a customer of mine. A few 
months ago she bought one of our lots at Sea 
View Extension, at my solicitation, perhaps 
she might say on my advice. She paid eight 
hundred dollars for it, and I gave her a de- 
cided bargain, due to the fact that this sum 
was all the ready money she had.” 

He stopped, took another pull at his glass, 
and then continued: 

“Mrs. Barney, I am sorry to say, has 
some mischievous and meddling friends, who 
have been endeavoring to instil into her 
mind—and with some success, too—the idea 
that she was cheated when she bought the 
land, That is nonsense, for the whole thing 
was perfectly legal. The fact that her lot 
is at the farther end of the tract, near the 
shore, and so has not yet shared in the great 
improvements already made, is a situation 
which may be incidental to the development 
of any large property. You can understand 
that.’”- 

“The lot is no good?” 

“Perfectly good! Perfectly good! Of 
course, there is no immediate market for it, 
just now, most buyers preferring something 
a little more accessible, but the possibilities 
of the property are wonderful.” 

“Excuse me, Mr. Cleverly, but what has 
this to do with me?” 

“Just this, Roberts! I understand that 
Mrs. Barney will go to Judge Burr: for ad- 
vice. I want you to be around when she 
comes, and let me know the advice he gives 
her.” 

“T can’t do it.” 

“There’s no harm in it. It may save her 
more trouble than it will me. She has no 
case, but I don’t want a lawsuit on account 
of the publicity!” 

*T can’t do -it, sir!” 

“A favor to a widow, if not to me, 
Roberts. If I find she’s willing to be rea- 
sonable, I’ll compromise by giving her, say, a 
third. Otherwise she won’t get a cent.” 

*“You should not ask me, Mr. Cleverly! 2 

“Roberts!” 

Abram Cleverly leaned forward, his el- 
bows on the table, his chin thrust out. 

“Roberts, you have a family?” 

“ Yes. ” 

“You need to support them?” 

a“ Yes. ” 

“Would Judge Burr employ a man who 
had been up in the police court as drunk 
and disorderly—” 

“You needn’t go on, Mr. 
see what I can do.” 


Cleverly. Fl 


153 


Abram’s smile returned. 

“T knew you were a sensible man. When 
you learn anything, drop in at my office and 
report. And, another thing, I’m not mean, 
Roberts, and I’ll pay you for your trouble.” 


It was a week later that Roberts reported 
at the lawyer’s office. 

“Mrs. Barney called to see the judge day 
before yesterday, Mr. Cleverly. They 
talked over the matter of the land for some 
time.” 

“What was the judge’s advice?” Abram 
leaned forward eagerly. 

“He advised her not to sue you nor to 
compromise, but to hold on to the lot.” 

“What?” Cleverly almost shouted his 
astonishment. “ The judge thinks it a good 
investment? ” : 

“He didn’t say that. He simply told her 
that if she kept quiet now, he thought she 
would get much more than she paid for it.” 

“But why?” Cleverly’s question was 
as much to himself as to the other man. 

“Excuse me, sir, but Judge Burr is 
treasurer of the Eastern Shore Club.” 

“What of that?” 

“And the club people have bought the 
big tract of wild land beyond the widow’s 
lot!” 

The lawyer sat up in astonishment. The 
Eastern Shore Club was composed of the 
wealthiest summer residents in the whole 
section. Whatever the Eastern Shore Club 
wanted it got—and usually paid well for. 

To Abram Cleverly the solution seemed 
instantly plain. The club wanted the 
widow’s land to complete its holdings, and 
in that event would probably pay five times 
the present value of the property. 

“T have it!” he exclaimed aloud. 
“There's a little beach in front of Mrs. 
Barney's lot. They're going to build a club- 
house and they want it for a private bathing- 
beach. When is the widow coming to see 
the judge again, Roberts?” 

“Not soon, I fancy, sir. The judge goes 
West to-night for a two weeks’ business 
trip.” 

“Well, Roberts, I’m much obliged to you. 
And you know I said I would pay you for 
your time.” 

He held out a yvellow-backed twenty-dol- 
lar bill. The butler hesitated a moment, 
then took it. 

“Thank you, sir. 
you wanted, sir.” 

It took Abram Cleverly but a short time 
to decide on his course of action, nor did 
he. waste many hours in entering upon it. 
Judge Burr was in the West; just where, 
no one seemed to know. Even a telegram 
which Mrs. Barney sent to the effect that 


T hope you have what 


154 


Mr. Cleverly was trying to buy back her 
land remained unanswered. 

Abram brought every one of his many 
arts to bear upon the widow, returning to 
the attack each day with new arguments 
and a fresh offer. Finally the old lady, 
yielding to the temptation to grasp what 
seemed to her a fabulous profit, sold him 
back the land for an even one thousand 
five hundred dollars. 

The deeds were passed and recorded and 
the cash safely placed in the bank, where 
it comfortably swelled Mrs. Barney’s rather 
lean account. Mr. Cleverly settled himself 
to wait for Judge Burr’s return and an of- 
fer from,the Eastern Shore Club. 

The day after the judge came back, he 
visited Lawyer Cleverly’s office. Nothing 
was said about real estate until Abram, firm 
in the knowledge of his position, remarked: 

“By the way, judge, I’ve bought that lot 
at the end of Sea View Extension.” 

“Yes?” said the judge politely. 

“Vou know, the one next the Eastern 
Shore Club’s new tract.” 

oe So? ” 

The judge’s tone was still that of polite 
inguiry. Abram was a little puzzled. For- 
getting his inrention to let the club begin 
negotiations, he blundered: 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


“T thought you club people might like it.” 

“What for?” 

“Well, for a bathing-beach.” 

“We've got one beach.” 

“But that’s half a mile away.” 

“Tt will be near the new clubhouse.” 

“What?” Abram raised his voice. “Is 
the new clubhouse to be at the other end 
of the property?” 

pal is CB 

“Then the Barney land is worthless to 
you?” 

“T’ve always considered it worthless to 
us or to any one else.” E 

“Then what did you mean by telling 
Mrs. Barney—” 

“What did I tell Mrs. Barney?” 

“You told her she could get much more 
for her land than she paid for it.” 

“Well,” said the judge, “didn’t she?” 

“Double crossed!’ exclaimed Abram, 
striking the table. 

“Not at all,” returned Judge Burg. 
“Roberts told you the exact truth. If you 
drew false inferences, it is your own fault. 
Roberts is faithful, even if he did get 
drunk. By the way, there is something he 
wished me to return to you.” 

He tossed a yellow-backed twenty-dollar 
bill on the desk and walked out, 





aa TEARS 


UP MONEY, 


This Woman Quiets Her Conscience by Destroying a Dollar’s Worth of 
Stamps Regularly Once a Month. a 


NCE a month a woman, whose neat 
attire does not indicate the possession 
of any surplus income, appears before the 
man who rakes in the money contributed «to 
the United States Treasury by persons 
afflicted with an uneasy conscience, and in 
his presence destroys a dollar's worth of 
stamps. After she has torn them into the 
smallest possible pieces, she departs, without 
comment, to renew the performance thirty 
days later. 

It is, according to the witness, the queer- 
est of all the queer cases that come to the 
knowledge of those connected with the con- 
science fund. She now works for a private 
employer at a small salary, but formerly she 
was one of the great army of government 
clerks. In her department the money to pay 
the clerks came every month, and after pay- 
day there were never any funds left. 

On one occasion the chief clerk became 
tangled up in his accounts, and she received 
thirty dollars more than she was entitled to. 
—pay for time when she was on a holiday 


and, according to the rules of the depart- 
ment, should not have received anything. 
Theoretically, of course, she should have 
refused to receive it then and there. In-. 
stead, she took it. She needed the money. 

“But after she had spent the thirty dollars 
her conscience rebelled. She explained to 
the chief clerk, offering to repay the money. 
That individual, however, flatly refused to 
receive it. He mich preferred that the 
government should be out thirty dollars 
than that he should be forced to admit his 
mistake and go through the laborious task 
of straightening out the tangle. 

For the conscience-stricken woman to” 
have returned it herself would have been 
the undoing of the chief clerk, and might 
ultimately have cost her her job. In this 
dilemma she consulted a clergyman, who 
recommended restitution on the instalment 
plan. Since then, with the punctuality of 
the sun, she has been tearing up once a 
month a dollar’s worth of stamps, and now 
her debt to the United States is almost paid. 


oe ta eee 


THE COCKNEY SPORTSMAN ; “WELL,I’M ~ 
JIGGERED !| I NEVER HEARD A DYING RAB- 
BIT MAKE A NOISE LIKE THAT BEFORE.” 
"THE KEEPER: “NO, SIR; BUT BILL ~ 
AIN’T NO RABBIT.”—London Sketch. : 
















-—from 1811 to 1830. 


a Vast Sepulcher. 


HE story of steamboat traffic on the 
Mississippi River is one of the most 
interesting features in the history 
of the development of the great em- 

pire known as the Middle West. 

Its infancy lasted less than twenty years 
Its full strength and 
vigor, though checked somewhat by the 
troublesome days of the Civil War, lasted 
about forty years. Then, in the seventies, 
according to most theories, the railroads 
wiped it out almost in a day. 

As a matter of fact, the steamboat men 
were themselves very much to blame for 
their loss of position, influence, and wealth. 
Utter recklessness contributed a great deal 
to the dissolution of the proud fleet that 
stemmed the floods of the basin. 

By countless catastrophes from fire and 
steam, the millions of people in the great 
valley were driven to shun the rivers and 
to eagerly grasp the first opportunity of 


avoiding river travel—the most comfortable — 


traveling i in the United States to this day. 


oA Sravevard 


4000 MILES LONG 
Sade by of? oamsboals 


BY RAYMOND S. SPEARS. 


_Early-Day Catastrophes on the Mis- 
sissippi That Made the Great River 





was not the only man*who arrived in St. 
Louis penniless, without property and down- 
cast because his all was destroyed when a 
river steamer went up in smoke or steam.° 
How the immigrants to the West learned 
to dread, even to hate, the river steamboats 
—a dread and a hate which present railroad 
methods are doing much to dispel—is indi- 
cated by the record of Mississippi River 
steamboat explosions. 

The steamer Moselle left the wharf at 
Cincinnati, on the Ohio River, April 25, 
1838. She was a proud craft, almost new, 
with the speed-record to St. Louis to her 
credit. The white, red, and gold of her 
paint, the black of her tall stacks, the crowd 
of gay people upon her decks, and the grow+ 
ing bone in her jaws, made a spectacle the 
like of which every river man loves to see. 

A mile above Cincinnati wharf a crowd of 
German immigrants were taken on board. 
The cabin passengers ‘gathered, on the up- 


per decks, crowding to the rails, to ‘see the 
spectacle. : = 


At last, as the steam from — the ‘safety- 
valve spread above the packet, the engineer 


janes B. Eads, the ‘great river pe g got. his sigeat and pee. on ‘the: BOwets 
= = 2 156 3s ; = 5 


ry 
ri 
} 












. 


7 


~ most dangerous traveling in the world. 
- indication of the jeopardy of a voyage on 


Lines were cast off, the mate whooped final 


orders, and the band began to play. 

The boat fell away from the bank, and 
her nose began to turn toward the Ken- 
tucky shore as she came around. Suddenly, 
while the spectators ashore were still waving 
their arms and cheering, the boilers burst. 
The whole forward part of the Moselle was 
flung up and out by bulging masses of white 
steam. Timbers and human bodies darted 
out of the white, sunlit clouds and rose far 
into the air. 


Pleasure Seekers Blown to Pieces. 


Then on all sides the rain of débris 
splashed upon the water and pattered on 
the land. Here and there shreds of cloth, 
some gay shawls and some somber jackets, 
fluttered away in the wind. The occupants 
of a house two hundred yards distant heard 
a crash on their own roof, and when they 
investigated found that the body of a man 
had “been driven half-way through the 
boards. 

There was a minute of silence. The steam 
was driven up and away from the shattered 
hulk by the wind. Then the dazed and 
frightened spectators on the bank heard a 
moan as if the wreck itself were in pain. 
The moan grew louder till it became a 
shriek of agony as the wounded and scalded 
cried in their misery. 

A. hundred skiffs put out to the rescue 
from the bank and followed the wreck down 
the current. One man told of seeing a 
score of bodies in the water around the 
hulk. 

Estimates as to the Joss of life differ. 
The most reliable placed the number of 
dead at eighty-one, the badly wounded at 
thirteen, and the missing at fifty-five. 

In the same year a flue on the Oronoco, 
of Pittsburgh, collapsed. The boiler-deck 
was crowded with passengers, all home- 
seekers bound for the West. The sweep 
aft of the steam threw fifty of the immi- 
grants overboard, where they nearly all 
drowned. Those who remained on the deck 
were scalded so badly that of more than a 
hundred, fewer than a score escaped with 
their lives. The cabin passengers suffered 
less. severely, but many were badly scalded 
because they rushed into the open when 
the boat was surrounded by steam. 

The destruction of the Moselle and the 
scalding of the Oronoco’s passengers were 
typical instances of disasters which made 
traveling on the Mississippi basin waters the 
An 


‘ariver steamer is indicated by the fact that 
the insurance rate on the river boats was 


seldom or never less than twelve per cent, 


: 4 Sa => 5 Se ey 


A GRAVEYARD 4,000 MILES LONG. 


and sometimes was as high as forty per. 
cent, and that the estimated “life” of a 
steamer was only three years. Snags, fire, 
and boiler explosions were the causes of 
excessive insurance rates. 

Never did “public-service” companies 
elsewhere display such reckless disregard 
of the safety of the persons and property 
of their patrons. But the steamboat owners 
paid the penalty in the one way that was- 
sure, sooner or later, to bring them to their 
senses—they lost their traffic. 

Because the channel is so shallow, the 
Mississippi River steamers have always been 
built with the least possible depth of hold. 
The steamer Missouri, built in 1840, was 
two hundred and _ thirty- three feet, long, 
thirty-five feet wide (fifty-nine feet over 


the guards), and only eight and one-half — 


feet deep in the hold. All the other river: 
steamers had similar proportions, the type 
being long, narrow, and shoal draft. In 
spite of truss-frames and hog-chains, the 
river steamers to this day undulate from 
end to end as they ride the crossing rollers 
—one can see the wave coming? down the 
length of the cabin. 

To place boilers and machinery enough in 
such a craft to drive it at any speed re- 
quired a distribution of weight. The river 
shipbuilders quickly discovered the best 
plan after steam-power came into use in the 
West. They put the boilers near one end 
—the bow—and the machinery at the stern, 
stiffening the long framework with trusses 
and long iron rods called “ hog-chains.” 

Putting the boilers near the bow paved 


the way for death and destruction for thou-— 


sands of passengers whose cabins were lo- 
cated on the deck above the boilers, and 
whose lives were never in greater jeopardy 
than when they stood on the upper decks 
watching the roustabouts toting cargo at a 
landing. Most of the explosions occurred 
at or near landings, ~being caused by the 
increase of pressure when the engines* were 
stopped. 


First Disaster in 1816. 


The first explosion on a Mississippi River — 


steamer was in 1816. The steam-pipe on 
the Washington, the fifth steamboat built 
in the West, burst and nine men were 
scalded to death. In the following year. 
the Constitution blew up, and_ thirty lives 


were lost. 


From this time onward a frightful toll 
was exacted by steam for its misuse. The 
time came when, in 1870, old river men 
could remember ninety explosions, which 


destroyed three thousand eight hundred and — 


eleven lives, as nearly as could be calcu- 
lated—there were some hundreds of other 


158. 


explosions, however, of which they could 
recall none of the details. 

In 1849 a list of 233 explosions on river 
steamers was compiled for the purpose of 
interesting Congress in the question of 
regulating ‘river steamboat boilers. The 
list showed that, as nearly as could be as- 
certained, 2,563 lives were lost and 2,007 
persons injured in the explosions, a total 
of 4,660. The property loss was placed at 
$3,090,360. 

In order that the causes of these explo- 
sions: might be plainly understood, details 
were given and analyzed. The causes of 
the explosions were stated in ninety-eight 
instances. Of the ninety-eight, seventy 
could have been prevented by care in con- 
struction and management. 

One was caused by “racing,” according 
to the record. As a matter of fact, a large 
proportion of the disasters were the direct 
result of haste. The competition on the 
rivers was the severest known in the his- 
tory of steam navigation. The fastest boat 
~“skimmed the cream of the traffic.” The 
Moselle herself was the “queen of the 
rivers,” when, after only three weeks of 
service, she vanished in her own cloud. She 
had made only three round trips from Cin- 
cinnati to St. Louis, but old boats and new 
ones were eagerly pressing her best time— 
seven hundred and fifty miles in two days, 
sixteen hours; hence the bitter anxiety of 
her captain, pilots, and engineers to keep on 
top at least for the season. 

The story of the engineer who “hung a 
nigger on the safety-valve” had its origin 
in those days. Many a steamer churned the 
yellow Mississippi with her safety-valve tied 
down between landings. 

The river steamer traffic had only just 
begun in 1831, yet the death-record from 
steamer explosions was then 256 lives lost 
and 104 persons injured. In 1835, a list of 
684 steamboats was prepared. It is one of 
the most interesting records of early steam- 
boat history. Every one of these steamers 
had been built, used, and put out of com- 
mission since 1811, while the first Western 
steamer was built by a Roosevelt at Pitts- 
burgh. 


Congress At Last Aroused. 


Of the number, 344 were “worn out,” 
238 had been “snagged,” 68 burned, 17 lost 
in collision, 17 destroyed by explosion. Only 
5054 per cent “died natural deaths.” 
~The list was compiled for the purpose of 
getting Congress to take some action toward 
“pulling the river-teeth”—removing — the 
snags which made such stretches of water be- 
tween St. Louis and Cairo veritable “ steam- 
boat slaughter-houses and graveyards.” 


THE LIVE WIRE. 


After years of agitation, Congress rose ~ 
above the bulwark of opposition raised by — 
Western steamboat men, and in 1852 passed 
a law “for the regulation and guidance of 
engineers” of steamers. Government in- 
spection seems to have been a farce. At any 
rate, eighteen years after the enactment of 
the law, in 1870, it was claimed that there 
were more explosions on the Mississippi 
River in proportion to the number of steam- 
ers engaged after the passage of the law 
than before. 


The Sultana’s 1,647 Victims. 


But whatever the effect of the law, ex- 
plosions on the river continued to be a 
menace to commerce. The most frightful 
explosion of boilers in history was at St. 
Louis, in 1864. The Sultana, a Union troop- 
ship, loaded down with soldiers, was lying 
at the bank ready to go down the Missis- 
sippi, where the soldiers were to take part 
in the campaign in the Delta country below 
Cairo. Suddenly there was an explosion. 
The craft was filled with steam. Some men 
were killed by the explosion; hundreds were 
scalded to death. 

The roll-call disclosed the fact that one 
thousand six hundred and forty-seven lives 
were lost in this disaster. As this was in 
war-times, when the battle-field losses cen- 
tered human interest, the déstruction of the 
Sultana, rivaling that of the Royal St. 
George in England, was scarcely mentioned 
in the annals of the day. 

Some of the worst explosions on the 
Mississippi were: 


Year. . Name of Boat. Deaths. 
ASSO Raed Helen McGregor..... 60 
gb 2). 1: Bawepevensiny Moselle (antic <a ere oo 125 
phil Soames Oronoco” =... 5s ena 100 
eG as tanas H. W. Johnson....... 74 
S849 oars Louisiana— 30. essa 150 
SES oan cces Anglo-Norman ....... 100 
4 | ea Glencoe: 7.5. <3 .00 . 60 
1869 oF Princess: —...c0% canes ae 
jh ere Ben Sherrod......... 80 
BGO aie st Pennsylvania ........ 150 
18645... Splfaria:-s33 Sesto 1,647 
bY fs Weems W,-R- Arthur..: os 60 


Only two years ago the W. T. Scovel was 
blown up at Gold Dust landing. She was 
taking on freight when the boilers exploded. 
Many of the timbers were blown hundreds 
of yards, and some of the persons aboard 
were hurled almost as far. The pilot-house 
and the front part of the cabin were 
smashed to splinters, and the hull of the 
boat was so badly damaged that she began 
to sink. The death roll was estimated at 
sixteen, while as many more were injared. 















; : THR poctor’s wire: “ WELL, JANE, so Your POOR POOR HUSBAND'S GONE AT LAST. - DIDN'T YOU GIVE 
St HIM HIS MEDICINE PROPERLY?” 
=H ‘JANE: “AH, POOR DEAR, HOW COULD 1? DOCTOR SAID AS HOW IT was ‘0 BE TOOK IN A RE- 
 GUMBENT POSITION, AN’ I ’ADN’T GOT ONE. I ARSKED MRS. GREEN TO LEND ME ONE. SHE SAID 
SHE ’AD ONE, BUT IT WAS BROKE ! SO IT WERE NO GOoD,”— ) 1 


dL LW 






























AIN was driving in torrents, blanket- 
ing vision at a dozen paces, the 
night I waited for Krensland on the 
dreary corner by the lumber-yard. 

So depressing were the surroundings that 
I began to grow uneasy. 

Suppose it were the lure of some enemy? 
1 was alone, unknown, in a strange city; I 
could be mtirdered and none would ever 
know what had become of me. For the 
hundredth time I reread the note that had 
been left at my office in New York: 


My bEAR SEDGWICK: 

Meet me to-morrow evening in Bal- 
timore at eight o’clock, or any alternate 
hour, at the old rendezvous. Preserve 
secrecy regarding trip and arrange, if 
possible, to be gone two months. Till 
then, - K 

~ Eyen the signature was in typewriting; 
there was absolutely nothing by which the 
identity of the writer could be proved. I 
had neither seen nor heard from Krensland 
in more than two years, yet I knew the 
message was his. It was his way when 





there was something in the wind. 
2 Eight o’clock passed and there was no 
sign of Krensland; in fact, no life at all, 


save that a dilapidated carriage drove rapidly 


by, the horses’ hoofs ringing out dully in “/ 
naden laughing nervously. 


‘the sodden air. It was unlike Krensland to 
miss an appointment. — : = g 











160== 


Copy ofthe 


é CAMEO 
“olcha S. Lopez 


I had not the faintest idea of what I was 
embarked upon. Naturally; as Krensland 
was in the Secret Service, I had searched 
the Washington newspapers for a clue. But 
there was none, unless it lay in the ambig- 
uous paragraph hinting at a suspected rob- 
bery in the National Museum. 

Two hours later I was back on the corner 
again, but though I waited fifteen minutes, 
Krensland did not appear. Then the sound 
of a carriage approaching rapidly drew my 
attention and I moved out under the flicker- 
ing street-lamp. It was the same vehicle 
that had passed before. 

This time I saw a man’s face pressed 
against the window, looking fixedly at me. 
As I drew back into the shadow, I heard a 
sharp command. The horses were pulled 
up and the carriage turned toward me. 

“ Brookhurst!” called a voice. It was one 


of the names Krensland had called me in the © 


old days. “Get in quick!” I heard; and 
though I could see nothing beyond the open 
carriage door, I complied. The door 
slammed, the driver lashed his horses, and 
we were off at a gallop. 

“That dignified beard puzzled me, the 
first time we drove by,” said Krensland, his 
mouth close to my ear, “but it will be 
useful.” 

“Useful for what, and why all these pre- 
cautions?” I managed to gasp with difficulty, 
for we were rattling over cobbles. 

“Don’t talk till we strike a smooth road. 
O'Brien will soon have us on one.” 

“O’Brien!” I ejaculated, for the name 


-was that of one of the best agents in the — 


service, : 
“Certainly,” replied Krensland. “We're 
taking no chances on being traced. Even — 
he doesn’t know just what’s doing, nor who— 
you are.” : 


hear and talk easily. a i 


“And why am I so honored?” I asked, 











cantly, “T need — 


“Because,” he said sign 





We were ona dirt road now, and I could 


f 











THE 


a man with brains plus courage, and above 


all, discretion—preferably a physician, but 


“necessarily one who understands something 


of engraved gems.” 

“Oh,” I chuckled. “So it is the robbery 
of the National Museum.” 

He laughed outright. 

“Good! So you did read that fake story? 
I hoped every glyptographist would swallow 
it 

“T am hardly that,” “I said, rather nettled. 
“T know engraved gems only in a general 
way—a cameo from an intaglio, for in- 
stance.” 

“That’s enough,” he said.’ “You know of 
the cameo, ‘The Triumph of Neptune’ ?” 

“Certainly,” I replied. “It’s the largest 
and most famous antique cameo extant, en- 


graved in the Byzantine period and worth a 


king’s ransom for generations. It was lent 
by the Italian government and is being 
exhibited at the St. Louis Exposition.” 


“So we thought,” he intérrupted; “but 


_we have discovered that it has been stolen. 


COPY OF THE CAMEO. 








A copy was subatituted- so serra that we = 


should not have- suspected, had not Dr. 
Furtelhagen, the German expert, discovered 
the fraud. If we do not recover it before 
the collection goes back to Italy, there will 
be unpleasant complications. The half-dozen 
persons who know are sworn to secrecy ; not 
even the thief knows it is missed.” 

“The thief!” I gasped. 
who it is—then why—?” 


“Because we have no absolute proof, and_ 


his arrest on mere suspicion would precipi- 
tate international difficulties, besides ruining 
our only chance of ever recovering the 
cameo. Undoubtedly it is secreted; when he 


“You suspect 





161 ee 


learns we suspect him, it will never come 


from its hiding-place.” 


“Who is. this mysterious suspect?” I 
asked. ; ; 
“You will help?” asked Krensland. 


“Very well.” He leaned over and whispered — 


in my ear: “The Grand Duke Paul.” — 
His words stunned me. I knew then why 


the suspected man could not be molested. 





I LET MY HAND STRIKE 
eae THE CASE, AND IT 
_ PELL ‘TO THE FLOOR ~ 


Rta = 








AND FLEW OPEN, — 
SPILLING THE IN- 











he could not purchase. 


‘heart-failure. ‘ 
~ handy might be summoned to his assistance.” 


a suburb of Philadelphia. 
‘his house is a small cottage in which the 


sany. cost. 
REY ree 





This Russian noble who was visiting Amer- 


ica, avowedly to study industrial conditions, 


was in effect the unofficial representative of 
the Czar. 


“Incredible!” I said finally.. “The man 
is rich and too shrewd a diplomat to risk 
being compromised. He could never hope 
to sell or even show a gem so famous as the 
Neptune.” 

_ “fe wishes to do neither,’ said Krens- 
Jand. “He is a veritable glyptic miser. 


His collection of gems cost fortunes, but 


no one is permitted to examine it. Foreign 
dealers believe him a maniac on the subject, 
who would stop at nothing to secure a gem 
It is one of the 
reasons we suspect him.” 

“No other reasons?’ I asked. 

“Oh, yes,” said Krensland. “Only three 


other persons examined the collection 
privately. We think we have eliminated 
them. How the substitution was accom- 


plished is a mystery, for there was always 
an attendant, but it is certain that the copy 
was the work of years. Every detail is 
exactly imitated, even to the century-old 


_rust-marks. 


“You are a physician and a stranger,” 
went on Krensland. ‘He is surrounded by 


- Russian agents who have every one of our 


operators spotted. He knows he is under 


surveillance, but thinks it is solely because 
of his political activities. 


“He suspects every stranger who ap- 
proaches him. Therefore, you will make 
him approach you. There is one weakness 
in his barrier; he is subject to attacks of 
t A doctor who happened to be 


“But how,” I asked, “do you expect that 


I am to be handy?” 


“T have arranged all that,’ he said. 
“Under the name of Metarsky, he is living 
incognito with one man-servant in Clifton, 
Directly opposite 


village doctor lived. He has recently retired 


~and you have purchased his practise through 


an agent. Your name is Franklin. Your 
shingle is already swinging and you move in 
to-morrow.” 
“Very well,” I agreed; 
do gain access to him?” 
“Then you seek a loophole through his 
mania for glyptics. This may help you lure 


“and supposing I 


him.” He pressed a small package into my 
hand. 
_ the National Museum. 
recognize it immediately. 


“Tt is a Constantine intaglio from 
Tf he sees it, he will 
Then, if he is 


honest, he will denounce you. If he is the 


‘thief we suspect, he will try to secure it at 
Play, into his confidence that 





THE LIVE WIRE. 


“And how will I recognize the stolen ; 


Neptune?” I asked. 

I= had thought of that,” replied Krens-_ 
land. “Here is the replica that was sub-— 
stituted. Study it carefully.” 

By one o’clock the next day we were in 
Clifton. The cottage and its surroundings 
were as typical of the country doctor as we 
could wish. 

I stayed indoors all afternoon, studying 


through my blinds the big house across the 


way. I am not much of a believer in the 
psychic, but I could feel, 


jecting us to intent scrutiny. 

Nathaniel, my man, went out, ostensibly 
to market for us in the village a half-mile 
distant, but really to study the lay of the 
land. His report was encouraging. ‘We 
were already objects of suspicion. 

He had spotted at least two of the duke’s 
agents, largely because they had tried to 
force their acquaintance upon him. One 
was a German employed in the general store, 
wherein was the post-office and telephone 
exchange, the other drove the village hack— 
occupations nicely chosen to keep them in- 
formed of the few events that occurred in 
this quiet spot. 

They got from Nathaniel only the impres- 
sion that we sought no company and would - 
repulse advances. 

For three days I ventured forth only after 
dark. Invariably I met either of the men 
Nathaniel suspected, and to their cordial 

“good evenings” I never vouchsafed more 
than a grunt. Once a tall, bent man passed 


me, and even in the gloom I could see that — 


he peered at me beneath his hat, pulled low 
over his eyes. I knew instinctively that it 
was the duke. 

Another week went by and nothing of 
moment happened. Evidently the duke had 
no heart attacks that demanded medical 
attention. 


I was losing hope rapidly when a new. 
plan formed itself in my mind. Thenceforth’ 


Nathaniel’s actions in the village were cal- 
culated to give the idea that we were hard 
up for cash. He bought fewer and fewer 
supplies and finally asked for credit. Then 
appeared my advertisement in 
newspapers: 


Gentleman, in need’ of money, will 
sacrifice some valuable antiques, in- — 
cluding documents, coins, and some very : 
rare cameos and intaglios. = 

Address: Dr. F., Clifton, Pay 


‘This brought two or three letters See 


dealers, and then the second evening came 


the duke, ‘introducing himself “as Mr. Me- 
ee 


as distinctly as 
though I saw it, that some one was sub- — 


several — 


He had read the advertisement, HS 


> 





Bee f Pas 


i — x * 


explained, was sure that it must be me, 
and being a collector in a small way him- 
self, thought he might buy some of my 
gems. : 

It was the first time that I had ever had 
a close look at the man, but I was not rash 
enough to study him openly. I found my 


opportunity later when he was looking at 





THE COPY OF THE CAMEO. — : 


-as I sprang after it. 





and it fell to the floor and flew open, 


spilling the intaglio. : 
T had no need to pretend to.nervousness 
But quickly as I re- 


covered it, I knew he had caught a glimpse — 


of the gem. The transformation in the 
man could be felt rather than observed. 
His manner did not change in the slightest, 





I RECOGNIZED HIM AS THE GERMAN WHOM WE HAD 





the specimens. His was the face of an 
esthete, sharp-featured, intellectual, and 
almost fanatical in its intensity. 
And as he gloated over the gems and 
caressed them, I knew that Krensland was 
right. He was a maniac on the subject. 
“More, show me more,” he kept repeat- 
ing, and as I passed them over grudgingly, 
his chilly reserve melted gradually into an 
enthusiasm akin to religious fervor. 

Then I played my carefully conceived 
_master-stroke. The Constantine from the 


National Museum was in a shabby leather — 
' case which I kept carefully to one side. As 


I fumbled with the other gems, I let my 
» hand strike the case, apparently by accident, 


$5 


os 


WENTIFIED AS ONE OF THE DUKE’S AGENTS. 


nor his appearance, save that the pupils of 
his eyes narrowed to pin-points. 

“What is it?” he asked carelessly, reach- 
ing out his hand. 

“Only a replica,” I said with a purposely 
transparent effort at carelessness, throwing 
thecase to one side. “It is not for sale; 
it is a memento.” 

Then Nathaniel knocked, as we had ar- 
ranged, and I walked to the door to talk 
over some household matter with him. 
Reflected in the little mirror I had arranged 


for just this situation, I saw the duke’s — 


hand flash to the case and open it with 


lightning speed. He peered at the contents — 


an instant and then closed the case. 


7 


te - = 


- 


es ihe 


os 








- 





2 





+ 


‘made the whole matter clear. 


open. 


- hiding-place of the Constantine? 





-. When I turned he was examining the 
“minor gems with the most innocent intent- 
ness. 


We talked awhile on glyptography; 
then he bought a couple of cameos and left. 
“Til run over again,” he said pleasantly, 
“and if you have any clever replicas, I 
may buy.” 

I hardly knew whether to be pleased or 
discouraged. One thing was certain; he 
had recognized the Constantine as the one 
supposed to have been stolen from the Na- 
tional Museum. Would he denounce me as 
the thief? I did not think so. That would 


destroy his only chance of obtaining the 
_. intaglio; and if ever a man hungered for 
anything, the duke hungered for that carved 


gem. 

‘Nathaniel had started for Philadelphia 
that evening, when a little girl came to my 
door and said that her father was dying 
and would I come quick? Sheer humanity 
made this call imperative, and I grabbed 
“my medicine-case and followed her into the 
street. 

She led me nearly to the other side of 
the village and into a house where I found 
a man writhing and groaning apparently in 
great agony. I recognized him as the Ger- 
man whom we had identified as one of the 
duke’s agents. I could find absolutely noth- 
ing the matter with him, and I wondered 
if this were a ruse to ascertain whether I 
were really a physician. 

Having prescribed a sedative in order to 


mask my suspicions, I had barely reached 


the sidewalk when the village hack drove 
by. I wondered what brought it into that 
locality, but hailed it, thinking to ride home. 
The hackman paid no attention to my call, 
though he must have heard. 

I hurried to my office, a-prey to inde- 
finable dread. The scene that greeted me 
The chairs 
had been overturned and a window stood 
Some bric-a-brac and a case of in- 
struments were gone, and the room had 
been thrown into disorder to mask the real 
purpose of the burglary. 

Several of the unimportant gems were 
scattered about. Had they found the 
I rushed 
to my desk and opened the secret drawer. 
Then I reeled back and collapsed into a 
chair. The case was gone! I had been 
outwitted just when success’ seemed pos- 
sible. 

Nathaniel found me there in a semi- 
_ stupor when he returned. I did not need 
to explain. 

“They took the case?” he asked Guite 
= placidly- <=> Z. 


“Ves, and the intaglio!”- I snarled, en- 


raged | at his” calmness. 


\ ; THE LIVE WIRE. 


“No, they didn't,’ he said proudly. “I. 

was worried and took the Constantine with 
me. 
basket,’ thinks I.” 

I could have hugged the modest old fel- 


low, but all that I did was to wring his — 
Then — 


hands until I worked off my emotion. 
we planned our future campaign. 


Nathaniel took the first step when the 


garrulous village constable passed in the 
morning. He ran after him like a flash, 
and there, in the middle of the road, loudly 
berated him for allowing robbers to prey 
unmolested. Then I went out and _ stilled 
the clamor, taking care to make «clear that 
I wanted no investigation. 5 

The scene was enacted solely for the 
duke’s benefit. It-gave him an excuse for 
knowing that we had been robbed and also. 
the impression that he was not suspected, 

It was raining that night when Nathaniel 
again started for Philadelphia. He was 
to buy a through ticket, but leave the train 
at the next station. 

Scarcely had the train left, when the duke 
appeared, enveloped in a dripping mackin- 
tosh. He had heard of the robbery, he 
said, and straightway began to condole with 
me. 

Had I 
stolen? 


lost much? Were my gems 
Did they take my replicas? 


“Yes,” I said bitterly; and then I de- 


clared that thereafter I intended always to 


carry my important pieces with me wherever 


I went. 

Immediately he became profusely sym- 
pathetic. He understood my feelings as a 
brother enthusiast, he said, and he invited 
me over to stay with him until my man re- 
turned. He would show me some of his 
own treasures. 

IT concluded that he hoped to get me 
away until another search could be made 
for the Constantine. Of course I went, but 
I took the intaglio with me, allowing him 
to catch a glimpse of the case as I placed 
it in my pocket. 

Then I left the room to slip the replica 
of the stolen Neptune in another pocket. 


The premonition was strong that I should. 


see its original that night; so I set the sig- 
nal-light which would warn Krensland’s 
lookout to prepare to draw the net around 
our prey. 


We crossed to the duke’s house. Never 
had I entered a dwelling that reminded me~ 
so strongly of a medieval fortress. 


window was barred with iron, and the mas- 
sive doors of oak were studded with metal 
and heavily bolted and chained. As my 


guide led the way, he carefully bolted and 
locked behind him each’ door we passed 
; Ssroiett It struck me ew zane: wore be — 





“Never put all your- eggs in one — 


Every =s 











bas 


‘as fine a replica as mine. 
ey enthusiasm, a knock at ae door inter- 


“you HAVE JUST ONE MINUTR,” 
HE SAID. “YOU CURSED FOX, 
TO TRY MY OWN GAME ON ME!” 


any attempt to escape from the place against 
the duke’s will. 

The duke was bland, suave, sympathetic, 
on the way; but once within his apartment, 
I saw an ominous change. Too late, I re- 
alized that I had been careless enough to 
enter a trap from which I might not be 
able to extricate myself. It was to be more 
than a war of wits; he intended to murder 
me, if necessary, to get that Constantine. 

The plan had been laid with fiendish cun- 
ning. I could be killed and my body re- 
turned to my cottage before Nathaniel got 
back. Suspicion would~ naturally fall upon 
the unknown robbers of the night before. 
None would dare accuse the Grand Duke 
Paul of such an act. 

It flashed over me that my one chance 
was to delay matters, if I could, till Krens- 
land and his men arrived. And the duke’s 
mood was suited to this. Undoubtedly, it 
was maniacal pride that led him boastfully 
to bring out his glyptic treasures. He was 
going to murder me, but first he wished to 


excite the envy and admiration of the only 
glyptographist to whom he could ever show — 


them. © 


~ At last he produced the stolen Neptune, 


with the leering remark that perhaps it was 


wee = eee a. = 


2 < ee 


me!” 


While I voiced 





rupted us. He walked to it and opened a 
tiny hidden panel, listening intently to the 
murmuring voice outside. 

As his back turned, a sudden inspiration 
came to me. I drew the Neptune replica 
from my pocket and exchanged it for the 
genuine gem I was examining. If I es- 
caped, it would simplify matters. And I 
thought, if it came to that, I could escape 
by selling him at a low price the Constan- 
tine he coveted. -The government would 
prefer its loss to that of the Neptune. 

When he turned toward me again with a 
suggestion of impatience in his manner, I 
was intently studying the spurious gem. He 


held out his hand and I passed it to him. 


He gave it one glance and leaped to his 
feet with a snarl. He had discovered the 
imposition. 

Before I could reach for my own weap- 


_on, he had pointed a revolver at my head. 


Cold, calculating fiendishness shone from 
his eyes—not the blind passion of an ani- 
mal, but a refined lust for revenge that 
called for my mental torture before death. 
“You have just one minute,’ he said. 
“You cursed fox, to try my own game on 
~ The ceafmness of “idsesic possessed. ‘me. =. 
“You had better weigh the Cee Selo 
Grand Duke Paul,” ss said. . 


. 








~ decision. 


“ly: 


He started at my words. 

“You know my namie,” he said reflective- 
“T see; you are one of those govern- 
ment agents. That explains how you got 
my replica.” 

I bowed affirmatively, hoping to gain time. 
~ “So much the better,” he continued with 
“JT will now be able to kill three 
birds with one stone.” 


“How so?” I managed to say in an even — 


voice, though I saw his finger tapping im- 
patiently on the trigger. The man was 
something of a braggart, for my assumed 
curiosity seemed to give him pleasure. 
“Virst,’ He said, “you have delivered to 
ane the-Constantine intaglio I wanted; sec- 


ond, you have warned me that the Neptune 


is missed, and that I am suspected; third, 
you give me the satisfaction of destroying 
the only detective that ever fooled me, and 


~ that in a way absolutely safe to myself. I 


_ «Hermitage collection in St. 


owe you a debt of gratitude.” 

“Pay it,’ I said, thinking only of delay, 
“by gratifying the curiosity of a man about 
to die. Tell me how you secured the Nep- 


- tune, where you got so marvelous a rep- 


Tica.” 

The man was insane; there could be no 
‘question of it. Actually, he laughed proud- 
ly—this fiend who was bent on killing me 


- in a few moments. 


en 


*“T could hardly deny such a request from 
a fellow glyptographist,” he purred with 
mock pathos. “It is too bad that one so 
clever as yourself cannot survive me and 
profit by my valuable experience. A true 
virtuoso is content to spend. years—a life- 
time, if necessary—to attain a coveted piece. 
When it is almost inaccessible, like the Nep- 
tune, the matter requires patience. 

“Years ago, when the gem was in the 
Petersburg, I 
could secure permission only to make a 
plaster cast. It took a decade for me to 
find in Munich the skilful forger who could 
make the replica, with me to guide him as 
to coloring. 

“T was fortunate in being sent to this 
country about the time the gem was loaned 


ITH reference to the fiftieth anni- 


France a French contemporary 





THE LIVE WIRE. = — 


versary of the first railway in 


points out that it was in connec- 


tion with this event that the virtues of — 


pommes soufiées were discovered, _ — 


A French chef was traveling on the new 


was to > eelebrate the opening: 





== 


to your sufficiently careless government. 
The substitution was very simple. One of- 
my timely heart-attacks sent the museum 
attendant away for a moment to bring aid. 
Is there anything I have omitted?” : 

“Yes,” I said, playing my last card, for 
I saw his mood would brook no more de- 
lay. “It might be well for you to decide | 
whether it would not be awkward to con- 
ceal a murder from the Secret Service men — 
now surrounding your house.” 

He drew his lips to a thin line. 

“Tt is one of your American bluffs,” he 
snapped. © f 

“Go to the window, wave a lighted match 
twice, and see for yourself,” I said, forcing 
a confident manner that was far from real. 

He meditated briefly, and then guarded 
me to the window. Heavens! Every throb 
in me was a prayer that Krensland had ar- 
rived. Then I waved the match at his 
command. 

He waited a moment, and there was no 
response. My heart stopped. Krensland 
had failed me. : 

The duke turned to me, a smile of dia- 
bolical triumph on his face. Suddenly hope 
surged up in me again. A score of minute 
points of light were beginning to flicker 
through the downpour of rain. I pointed 
silently. 

Never have I seen such a transformation 
in a man. Immediately the duke was the 
bland diplomat, courteous, almost caressing. 

“Well,” he said, pocketing the revolver 
and moving toward the door, “you have 
the Neptune and the evidence against me.— 
But I do not think it will be used.” “ He 
smiled superciliously. 

“Oh, no,” I replied, matching his: tone. - 
“Before that would be possible you will be 
on your way to Russia.” 

“Russia?” he inquired politely. : 

“Yes,” I said. “If you watch the news- 
papers, you will read that the Grand Duke 
Paul has completed his investigations in 
America and is about to return home.” — 

We had reached the outer door. With a 
formal bow, the duke closed it in my face. 


_- ORIGIN OF POMMES SOUFFLEES. 


Just before arriving at St. Germain he 
threw some potatoes in the boiling butter. 


The train, however, was delayed, and the <4 


potatoes had to be taken out again. : 
‘When the train restarted the potatoes 
were once again Dut in the boiling butter, 


Z ‘and to every one’s delight were found, on — 
line from Paris to St. Germain, and was b 
‘preparing in the train the “banquet which 





being taken out, to be deliciously infla ; 
The beauties: of ‘the pomme soupfée had : 


been revealed. 




















Ofrom the) : 


CSounir 


Fine Examples of How the Rural 
Editorial Mind Plows Through 
Subjects of All Sizes. 


D HARRIS was up before Judge Moore 

Wednesday, charged with winking at 

a Crow Heart Butte Avenue lady. It was 

proved by seven witnesses that he has the 

St. Vitus two-step in his right eye. He was 

discharged by the judge. Also by his em- 
ployer. 

Old ‘Wall-Eyed Johnson lit in town yester- 
day. He is known as having the homeliest 
mug of any man in the Crow Heart Butte 
country. The saloon-mirror insurance has 
been raised twenty per cent since his arrival, 
and that’s getting off easy. 

Skinny McAllister ran a string from our 
door-knob to the door-bell of that charming 
old maid’s residence next door. When we 
opened our door to saunter down the street 
the bell rang, which brought the lady into 
the game, and as we were the only animate 
object in sight, we received the full force 
of her tongue assault, and, say, bunch, it 
was frightful—Big Bend News Notes in the 
Riverton (Wyoming) Republican. 


oe 


HE only fire brigade possessed by Home- 
town consists of four old men, four 
pails, and a dinner horn with which to give 
the alarm. As we have predicted before, 
some night the red-eyed fiend will sweep 
from Washington to Franklin Avenues and 
desolate one of the fairest villages in the 
land. We are no alarmist, but after the 
dread monster has done its work the town 
trustees will remember what we have said. 
—Hometown (Pennsylvania) Banner. 


ie 


ELIEVING that he had two very dan- 
es gerous men in the holdover in the 
es persons of the stpposed Salisbury bank ~ 


robbers, Marshal Williams left us the key 


~ >to: the city bastile when he retired at eleven 
Ze o'clock last night, pe that we had. to 





THE ASSISTANT CORONER ATTENDED THE DANCE 
ON MUSKET RIDGE LAST SATURDAY NIGHT, BUT 
HIS SERVICE WAS NOT NEEDED, AND HE 
WAS PUT TO PLAYING THE FIDDLE. 


work all night, and instructed us to keep 
as sharp a lookout as possible, and to go 
over at midnight and fire up. When that 
uncanny hour arrived we armed ourselves 
with a pistol that shot a ball about the size 
of a nickel’s worth of bologna, and descend- 
ed to the cells with a grim determination 


that if we found the prisoners gnawing on — 


the bars or making any attempt to escape, 
to run like the devil and beat them outside, 
or tear the house down in the attempt. 
found them snoring, however, and by the 
time,we got back to the office and locked 
the door our hair had resumed its normal 
-position.—Higbee (Missouri) News. 


& 


HE assistant coroner attended the dance 
on Musket Ridge last Saturday night, 
but his service was not needed, and he was 
put to playing the fiddle. —Hogwallow Ken- 
tuckian. 
& 


COUNTRY editor has been inspired, 
after looking over his list of delin- 

quent subscribers, to compose the following: 
“How dear to our heart is the old silver 


dollar, | when some ind subscriber presents — 


. it to view; the Liberty head without necktie 
or collar, ‘and. all the. strange things which 
to us seem so new; the wide-spreading eagle, 
the. arrows below it, the stars and the words 
with aS Sane: things they tell; the coin 


167 





We 











GIB CHILDERS IS QUITE A HUSTLER. 


of our fathers, we're glad that we knew it, 











for some time or other ’twill come in right 
well; the spread-eagle dollar, the star-span- 


gled dollar, the old silver dollar we all love 
so well. "—Garrettsville (Ohio) Journal. 
oe 


IB CHILDERS is quite a hustler, and 
7 while he has no trade and does no 
regular steady work, the Childers kids are 


always neatly dressed and go to school all the 


time. Mrs. Childers, though a busy woman, 
manages to keep the six little noses well 


wiped and then finds time to do from six to 


nine family washings each week. 
Gib borrowed a shotgun-‘and a dozen shells 


‘on Decoration Day, and managed to bring 


home eighteen quail and four ‘rabbits. He 
gave the rabbits to his wife, and they had a 
feast. He sold the quail and bought himself 
a lot of tobacco and a new pipe and made a 
payment on a bird-dog. He already has four 
dogs, but he says they are only good for 
coon hunting. 

He also hustled around four new families 
for his wife to wash for, and he hopes to get 
through the winter comfortably. Gib is a 
pretty good provider for a poor man.—How- _ 
ard (Kansas) Courant. 


ad 


CORONER'S jury in Arkansas  re- 
turned the following verdict: “The 
jury finds that Bill Jones is dead and that 


he blowed his own head off and thereby 


killed himself dead, but we don’t know if 
he has made his peace with God. before he 
killed himself with a_ shotgun | and malice 
piece. against the raise and — 


of the State of Arkansas, and, there- 
fore, we give the widow the right to 
marry another man who won't leave her — 
the way Bill done. All of which is sub- 
mitted in fear of God and the hope that 
Bill got what was coming to him.”— 
Princeton (Missouri) Post. 


Fd 


SINGING will be given one night 
next week to« raise money with 
which to build a jail at Bounding Bil- 
lows. As we are all liable to get in 
jail at some time or another, we should 
; aks to this worthy cause.—Hog- 
wallow Kentuckian. 


ed 


ieee WILLS put on a new tie and 
a roll-down collar, washed his face, 
and boarded Wednesday’s train for the 
village of Denver, where he will spend 
a few dimes and dollars and a_ week. 
Art Vaughn, the handsome Moffat road fire- 
man with a sweetheart in every port, stepped 
off the train Sunday long enough to exchange 
a warm lot of gush with his Sulphur Springs 
girl.— Sulphur Springs (Colorado) Advo- 
cate. 





2 ‘SINGING WILL BE GIVEN ONE NIGHT NEXT WEEK 
TO RAISE MONEY WITH WHICH TO BUILD 
A JAIL AT Beebo ue ‘BILLOWS. ¢ 








= 


FROM THE COUNTRY PRESS. 


HE editor of the 
Times attended a 
«Jersey cattle sale Tues- 
day. It was his intention 
to buy a bull or two, a 
few cows, and a lot of 
heifers. 4 
—_ He saw an aged bull 
sell for $5,000, and a year- 
ling for $1,500. He didn’t 
purchase a bull. 

He saw a cow sell for 
2,600. He decided not to 
buy a cow. 

He saw one heifer sell 
for $1,650, and weanlings 
change hands at $400. He 
concluded not to invest 
in heifers. 

He is now in the mar- 

. ket for a kind, gentle, un- 
pedigreed = milk-goat. — 
Glasgow (Kentucky) 
Times. 

& 


ENS,” says the help- 
ful poultry editor 
of the Emporia (Kansas) 
Gagette, “soon stop lay- 
ing when they are cooped 
up, but this is rather due 
to the lack of exercise than despondency or 
resentment. If you equip your hen-house 
with gymnastic apparatus, such as a trapeze, 
horizontal bar, and punching-bag, the chick- 
ens will then consider it a pleasure to lay 
plain and fancy eggs, efther fried, poached, 
or scrambled, as you may desire. In order 
to get the best results from chickens you 
must study their welfare.” 


& 


* DRUNK boarded a Springfield car re- 
cently, and when the conductor saw 
how things were he requested the jag to go 
out and take the air. The intoxicated one 
arose with difficulty and said sternly to the 





THE EDITOR IS NOW IN THE MAR- 
KET FOR A KIND, GENTLE, UN- 
PEDIGREED MILK-GOAT. ad 


conductor: “I'll go out, 
but I won’t take no air.”—. 
Monson Register. : 


& 


HINGS have been 
quiet in this neigh- 
borhood since. Deacon 
Williams had his head 
sawed off by a sawmill, — 
Campmeetin’ is in full 
blast. Somebody tried 
to dynamite the tent, and 
seven sinners were blowed 
sky-high—A dams (one 
Enterprise. 


& 


D EVANS has. re- 
signed his position as 
town clerk. He came into 
office with very little op- 
position and went out 
with none at all—Big 
Bend News Notes in the 
Riverton (Wyoming) Re- 
publican. 
a 


ILL REEVES, who 
stopped his Demo- 
crat a year or two ago, 
asked us what we thought of the Bryan 
pictures in the Evening Journal the other 
day. What does he care what we think? 
We know what we think of him.—Washing- 
ton (Iowa) Democrat. 


Bad 


E editor wishes to return his heartfelt 
thanks to Mr. Caleb Bruce, one of our 
leading grocers, for three pounds of butter 
kindly sent to his house. Kerosene oil had 
been spilled over the butter, thereby prevent- 
ing its sale, but we are worrying along with 
it and trying to imagine ourselves a lamp, 
which is easy, since we smoke and give light. 
—Hoimetown (Pennsylvania) Banner. 








= IF YOU ‘EQUIP YOUR HEN-HOUSE WITH - GYMNASTIC APPARATUS, ‘suCH AS A TRAPEZE, HORIZONTAL ‘BAR, 
_ AND PUNCHING-BAG, THE CHICKENS. WILL THEN CONSIDER ar A PLEASURE : 
TO LAY. PLAIN AND FANCY EGGS. - 








BY ELIOT GORD. 


How Former Senator Stewart Conquered 
a Mining-Camp Bully in the Early 


F-EARLY fifty years ago, a long-limbed, 
raw-boned, red-haired adventurer 
crossed the Sierra Nevada on the 
old emigrant trail from the gold- 

fields of California, whose gilt and glamour 
were largely rubbed off, to seek his fortune 
in the novel silver-chests of Nevada. 

He wore a long, yellow duster, with flap- 
ping skirts that caught the eye as he tramped 
along the dusty trail across the valley of 
the Carson and up Gold Cafion to the 
Comstock Lode. 

Otherwise he was one of a thousand in 
the motley stream of prospectors, gamblers, 
merchants, lawyers, sailors, clerks, cowboys, 
cooks, “tenderfeet” of many nations, races, 
and colors, threading the files of carts heaped 
high with every kind of truck, while a whirl 
of calls and oaths urged on the plodding 
oxen and straining mules with jingling col- 
lars and straps of bells. 

When he mounted the cafion and came 


into the camp of Gold Hill and Virginia 


City strung along the line of the vast lode, 
he was only a big stranger with a red face, 


smeared with sweat and grime, but he soon 


‘counted for more. than “that. In a few 





prophets and locators? 
ae ie Se SSeS x 





Days of Nevada. 


months the rough camps knew him as a 


steam-engine on tw@ legs—a man of tireless 
energy, hard sense, keen wits, ready, rough 
humor, quick temper, and boundless self- 
assertion. 

He was. William M. Stewart, a ‘young 
lawyer who was destined to become famous 
in the place, tame Sam Brown, the great 
mining-camp bully and bad- man, kick the 
chief justice of the State out of office, boss 


‘all the mining camps on the Comstock Lode, 


and later become United States Senator. 
And what immense pickings there were 
on and in the great lode for an attorney 
of that force and character! From the 
start the Comstock was a hot pot of liti- 
gation as steaming as the geysers that 
scalded its marrow. Was it a pack of © 
silver-bearing veins running side by side, 
or a monstrous chasm_filled with clay and 
porphyry and sprinkled through with ore 
bodies like plums in a sailor’s duff, or a 
poor-man’s pudding, as. John Mackay used 
to call it? o 
_ Did the mass pitch west or east, or bret 
one way and then another, confounding the 
What was the 


— original apex or “apices, 
_ the titles to them when the original record 


THE TAMING 
and who owned 


was a tattered and broken-backed book, 
which was kept in a barroom for months 
to use as a club, and was filled, at first, 
with weird entries Tike: “I, Bill Stubbs, 
claim Two hundred feet running north from 
Jim Jones’s- claim to a Ceder stump with all 
the spurrs, dips and angels”? 

It is not hard to see why the lawyers 
streamed to the camps, nor hard to believe 
‘the truth that half of the yield of the mines 
for years was spent in lawsuits—seventeen 
millions, it is reckoned, out of the first 
‘forty. And who in the camps was so telling 
with juries as William A. Stewart, and so 
fertile in resources that he would ndt stay 
beaten? 

In those days Mark Twain was an ob- 
scure reporter for the Territorial Enterprise, 
of Virginia City, as the biggest camp on 
the Comstock was christened while it was 
only a sprawling baby. But Mark’s eyes 
and humor were in the unknown reporter 
as in the author of “Tom Sawyer.” Witness 
his original cartoon of “big Bill Stewart, 
star of the bar.” 


_ “Why, man, he doth bestride our narrow 
range like a Colossus, and we, petty men, 
walk under his huge legs and peep about 
to find ourselves six feet of unclaimed 
ground! Sure it is, too, that he has as 
much brass in his composition as the famous 
old statue of Rhodes ever had.” 


In the life light of this caricature, one 
can see better than by pages of 
description how Stewart tow- 
ered above the field, when he 


‘HE WOULD HOLD UP ‘A. WAGON 


OF SAM BROWN. 


i 


had won his way to dominance and was 


taking fees in cash or claims beyond the 
dreams of the greatest jurists. But he had 
to win his way, and, in camps like the 
Comstock, there-was no bigger stepping- 
stone than his taming of Sam Brown. _ 
Sam was a black sheep of the world-wide 
Brown family, so well set forth by the 
author of “Tom Brown at Rugby.” He 
had the distinction of being the worst 


Brown that Nevada ever knew or- heard of, 


and the worst ruffian that ever infested a 
mining camp. Apparently, Sam enjoyed his 
reputation. His full Chfistian. name was 
such a grotesque misfit that nobody ever 
thought of using it. He was a sprout, too, 
in a field where hair was worn long and 
names short. 

The one fitting thing about him was his 
make-up. He was a Bad Man from Bad- 
Manville, and looked it. He was a strap- 
ping six-footer, toughened-by a life of ex- 
posure and peril—a black-haired, black-eyed 


villain of lurid melodrama in flesh. The 
bloodshot eyeball, the under puff, the 
bristling, waxed mustache, the insolent 


mouth and brutal chin were in evidence, to 


171 


1 


the joy and justification of the dime novel- 


ist. 

Not lacking in courage of the daredevil 
kind, he had the vanity and cunning to 
deepen the dread of him by parading as 
a walking arsenal, with pistols in both hip- 
pockets and a long, double-edged sheath- 
knife stuck ostentatiously in his bootleg. 
This knife was his pet weapon. He kept 








AND LEAVE MEN AND WOMEN: 
IN THE ROAD WHEN BE DROVE OFF, : 














it as keen as a razor and it was never out _ 


5 the reach of his hand by day or night. 


Extortions and impositions of every kind 
provided his daily bread and _ whisky. 
When he wanted to ride, he made nothing 
of stopping and pulling a man off his 


_-horse, if the rider didn’t jump off at once. 


“Or he would hold up a wagon and leave 
men or women in the road when he drove 


off. 


Just before he came to the Comstock, 
he was holding a little stock-farm near the 
emigrant trail through the Humboldt Valley. 
It was reckoned to be prudent not to call 
on Brown in passing. But a new express- 
rider stopped at the farm one day, and 
asked for something to eat. Brown pointed 
to a hanging strip of bacon and told the 
rider he might, cut and cook it for himself. 

“Please lend me your knife,” said the 
caller. 





Feo: PRE LANE Wine = 


Sam ate it out of his bootleg and held 
it out half-way—then drew it back with — 
a second thought and felt its edge delicately 
with his thumb. 
with that knife,” said he grimly, “and I’m 
superstitious about lending it to cut bacon.” 

The expressman did not press him. The 
story may. have been a lying brag, but the 
conjuring knife and evil face were sicken- 
ing. There was no doubt of the tale on the 
Comstock after Brown had become the ter- 
ror of the towns on the lode. The seething. 
mining camps were a natural home for him. 
Claim-jumpers often wanted such men and 
did not count the cost closely. Gambling 
was his least rascally occupation, and swind- 
ling a mild recreation for him.° In every 
form of debauchery and license he was a 
leader, and his bravado and a certain cun- 
ning drew about him a desperate gang of 
men—creatures of his own kidney. 

There was seemingly 
no bounds to his arro- 
gance and brutality. 
One day, a weak under- 
witted lounger in a bar- 
room, whose — eyesight 
was blurred with drink, 












NG err 70. cor BACON.” es = 








“Tve killed seventeen men 

















THE TAMING OF 


SAM BROWN. 





FILLING THE ENTRANCE WITH HIS BURLY BODY, SAM BROWN STOOD SCOWLING AT THE ATTORNEY. 
HE WAS ON THE WAR-PATH IN FULL TOGGERY. 


Staggered up against him and made some 
poor jest at which Brown took offense. On 
the instant, Sam slung his long arm over the 
drunkard, and, holding him as easily as a 
cat lifts a mouse, drove his knife to the 
hilt and turned it, ‘ Maltese fashion,” in his 
screeching and quivering victim. Then he 
flung the bleeding and mangled body on 
the floor carelessly. Some moments later, 
when a few rough Samaritans ventured in 
to carry away the man, still faintly groan- 
ing, Sam Brown was stretched out on the 
green cloth of one of the pool-tables, sleep- 
‘ing as calmly as a little child hushed to rest 
by his mother. 

No deputy dared arrest him. The flimsy 
“cooler” that served as a jail would not 
confine him for a day. No picked-up jury 
could be trusted to convict him. One could 
-only shun him, or suffer him, or shoot him. 


He had a ruffianly following, likely to warn . 
and rescue him or revenge his taking off: 


Besides, he was himself a quick and dead 
shot with his “gun.” So a man who 
crossed Brown’s passion or whim was risk- 
ing his life, and no one was ready to take 
the risk and responsibility of ridding the 
camps of their nightmare. 

The bravo roamed at large, therefore, 
finding no one to check him until the big, 
_ red-haired attorney came to the Comstock. 





_ dispute. 


Stewart heard of Sam Brown at once, and 
Sam soon heard of him as an uncommonly 
stalwart and stirring practitioner. The two 
men could not live in the camp long without 
a collision—and Ssm Brown had no doubt 
of its issue, though he had probably not 
made up his mind whether to allow Stewart 
to crawl away or to kill him. Of one thing 
he was sure—that he was to be cock of the 
walk on the lode. 

The meeting came about in a natural way. 


-A mining claim in dispute was referred to 


a jury which met in a toll-house, a mile 
away from the main camp. There was a 
bar in the house and tolls were taken and 
drinks served indifferently. Stewart was 
attorney for the peuees in the case and 
Sam was hired as a witness for the defense. 

It was a clear case of claim-jumping, but 
the jumpers were in possession and backed 
by Sam Brown. This combination was 
much more than nine points of the law on 
the lode at that time. It was openly 
boasted that no contesting attorney would 
dare to confront it and push the trial. But 
the braggarts had not tried Stewart’s metal. 

Shortly before noon, the jury met, as 
agreed, at the toll- house, took a drink and 
went out to inspect the actual ground in 
Then it came back and took 
another drink and was ready to hear the 











‘ease. . 
stand. The fourth man was testifying and 





~ tioning ofthe lawyer. 


room, stamping his heavy boots to show his — 
. contempt — for the court and his intent to H 






THE 
~ Stewart “put. his witnesses on the 


the jury was listening with apparent interest 
to the plain, straightforward unfolding of 
the facts under the simple and direct ques- 
Suddenly the door 
was slammed wide open by a rattling kick. 
The witness stopped short, gaping. The 
startled jurymen jumped up. They were 
sitting on wooden benches in the corner of 
the room farthest from the door. Stewart 
sat in front of them on a three-legged stool. 


He turned to look at the open doorway. 


Brown Ready for Trouble. 
~ Filling the entrance with his burly body, 


Sam Brown stood scowling at the attorney. 


He was on the war-path in full toggery. 


- The butts of his heavy revolvers bulged out 


at his hips and his knife was in his bootleg. 
He was plainly primed to the pitch of 
deviltry with whisky—and, when he was 
half drunk, nobody had dared to face him. 
His fury was deadly, as all men knew. 
Better beard a lion in his den or pluck 
a morsel from a tiger’s mouth than risk the 
knife or bullet of this monster. 

So the miners in the toll-house thought. 
All were hardened by that daily toil and the 
life in the gold and silver fields. The 


- Comstock camps, with their flaring hells 


where ruir and gambling ran riot, were no 
place for weaklings or cowards. But there 
was not one of these rough-hewn men who 
was not cowed by the sight of that lounging, 
leering bravo in the Coorway. 

To one man alone, after the first shock, 
a resilience came like the spring of fine 
steel, his nerves were strained tense but 
they did not waver. Stewart knew the 
bully at the first glance, though he had never 
seen him before. No one camp. ever 
spawned two Sam Browns at one time. He 
had looked for his coming during the day 
and was braced to face him. His hand fell 


on the butt of the revolver in his coat- 


pocket, and he cocked his pistol without 
drawing it and held his finger on the trig- 
ger. He didn’t intend to be a_ helpless 
target. Killing a witness at sight was not 
strictly professional, but it was less ob- 
jectionable than being killed by a witness. 

»So the lawyer’s resolution was hardened 
in the moment that showed the threatening 
figure with its foot on the door-sill. 
Stewart kept his seat on the stool, but 


turned enough to bring his gun to bear on 


the bully. After the pause in the doorway, 


calculated to terrorize the men in the toll-— 


LIVE WIRE. 





Fo a 


When he came within a fee feet of the 
jury, he stopped, drew himself up to his 
full height, and stood with his feet planted 
heavily, glowering at the jury and Stewart. 
No one on the benches cared to catch his— 
eye with a return stare, but the big man on 
the stool never took his keen eyes from the 
face of the rufhan from the moment when 
it was shown at the door. Sam Brown 
shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, 
hawked and spit on the floor: to show that 
he felt at home, and, drawing down his 
heavy eyebrows, tried to frown the lawyer 
out of countenance. 

But there was no quiver or wincing under 
the threat. Stewart’s teeth were close-set 
and the lines of his face wete rigid. His 
gorge had riseneat the intolerable effrontery 
and he was ready to sting. 

Curt and sharp as the snap of the whip 
came his challenge: “Who are you, sir?” 

This pricked the skin of the bully who 
gloried in his inglorious fame in the camp. 


“V’m Sam Brown,” he roared. “ Every- 
body knows me!” 
Like a bullet came the order: “ Take 


off your hat and sit down! When we want 
you as a witness, you will be called.” 

This was a shot at the bull’s-eye. It con- 
founded the ruffian. Who was this man, 
who dared to order him about in the camp 
which he terrorized? He. glared savagely 
at Stewart, and his hand stole toward his 
hip, but he caught the instant flash in the 
eye of the lawyer and the pressure of his 
hand on his revolver. Shooting through 
the pocket was a practise which Sam Brown 
understood very well. He saw sudden 
death in Stewart’s eyes and it shook his 
braggart assurance. He dared not chal- 
lenge the shot by a dash or by trying to 
draw a gun from his hip. His face changed 
from brutal bluster to sullen submission. 
He took off his hat awkwardly and sat 
down on one of the benches. eae 


Stewart’s Cool Nerve. 


Stewart went on with the examination, 
but always kept an eye on the treacherous 
bully and his hold on his revolver. When 
it came to his turn to cross-question Brown, 
he pulled the truth out by searching in- 
quiries, and showed no consciousness that 
the terror of the lode was different from 
any other witness, but he was careful fo>==> 
preserve a bearing of frigid politeness. It 
was a novel experience for the SeCIONBE « 


-ruffian, 





~The trial bain to an end. Th 


house, Sam Brown came striding into the te nec 











an disturb the trial. ere Fe 




















threat still hung over him. But he was 
surprised by the advance of Brown without 
‘a suggestion of bluster. 
“Will you take a drink with 
Stewart?” he asked meekly. 
According to the etiquette of the camp, 


Mr. 


me, 


“WILL YOU TAKE A DRINK WITH ME, 
MR. STEWART?” HE ASKED, WITH 
ALMOST A PLAINTIVE NOTE IN HIS 
TONE. 


refusal of this olive-branch would have 
been a gross insult. 

“Yes, thank you!” said the lawyer, and 
walked up to the bar. He was careful, 
however, to keep his pistol-hand free and 
his pistol-pocket toward his entertainer. 
He raised his glass, but he didn’t raise his 
eyes. It was a diversion with Sam Brown 
to take men off their guard. 


THE TAMING OF SAM BROWN. 








1 


But Sam took no notice, apparently, of 
the lawyer’s distrust. Hes drank off his 
glass and then shattered it on the bar. 

“You are the stuff, Mr. Stewart!” he 
cried. ‘ Will you shake hands?” 

The lawyer held out his hand and Brows 


squeezed it devotedly: From that day on 
till he died, shot like a wolf in the night, 
he was a ‘walking bassoon for-the “boss of 
the bar” in the camp. 

Nevertheless, Stewart slept sounder when 
a slab in the sage-brush bore the scroll in 
charcoal : & : 

“Here lies Sam Brown—better dead than 
alive—for Nevada.” 


MORE FREAK FIGURES. 


> DITOR Tue Live Wire: I read with 
interest the article in your June number 


on “Curiosities in Figures.” Here are 


some more curiosities that may interest your — 


readers: 
“To get all of one figure in an answer 


without exception: Supposing you want fours, 





multiply the figures Ts2- 3 456 7 9 (note 
12 = wo 








the absence of 8) by (4 times 9, or) 36, and 
you get 444,444,444, and even that has as a 
sum 36 and 3 plus 6 equals 9. 
If you want all fives, multiply 1 2 34 5 6 
79 by 5 times 9, or 45; so with any number. 
‘Numerous other experiments prove that 9 


is a peculiar and curious number, 


A. L. Sires, oe Peres. 





sy Strange Peoples Who ee fae Blazing to Prevent the 
World From Coming to an End or to Remind 
= Them of an Old Grudge. 


HE average American citizen thinks he’s doing pretty well if he keeps 
his furnace-fire burning from fall until spring. Let the sun come out 
warm a day or two in January and it’s even money that somebody will 
be splitting kindling-wood in the basement within twenty-four hours. 
Yet citizens in other parts of the world have kept fires burning for 

many centuries. 

It is an article of faith with some of the semisavage tribes of Portuguese 
East Africa never to let fires go out. The local superstition is that every time 
the fire is extinguished a human being goes to his death. A man who lights a 
fire and deliberately lets it go out is set upon by the tribe and killed. His death 
expiates the crime, and is supposed to prevent the death of some of his comrades. 

The Shamanist tribes of western Siberia regard fire with such reverence 
that they dread its extinction. ‘When as many fires have gone out on earth as 
there are stars in the sky, the world, they believe, will come to an end. Ina 
country where fires are needed not more than half the year, this belief is, of 
course, a cause of much inconvenience. A little casuistry, however, enables them 
to get over the difficulty. One fire, originally lighted with tinder or matches, is 
always kept alive, two tribesmen being constantly on the watch. Fires for 
domestic use are lighted by taking a brand from this chief fire. The Shamanist 
logic is that these latter are not real fires, not havi ing been kindled by artificial 
means. They are but parts of the great fire, their extinction causing no harm. 

Sicilian vendettas sometimes lead to the keeping up of a fire for years. The 
wronged individual solemnly lights a fire and swears that it will never be extin- 
guished until his desire for vengeance is assuaged. When he leav es his home, 
intent on murder, yy ea exhorts his wife to keep the fire in, otherwise 

his enterprise will f. ; 

When he has eos vengeance he returns home, takes a hot coal, singes his 
beard or mustache,-and tramps on the fire until it has gone out. 


j 


< 176 





FIRES THAT NEVER GO OUT, _ <t 


At a trial which took place at Palermo about fifteen years ago it was stated in | 
evidence that the accused, who had just murdered an enemy, had kept his kitchen fire 
alight for four years. 

In Bradford, England, is a man who has kept his study fire going for seven months, 
as the result of a dream. In the.dream he saw this fire suddenly go out, and next 
moment he imagined he was bankrupt and starving. Being somewhat superstitious, he 
insisted upon the fire being kept up. If it goes out he firmly believes financial troubles . 
will overtake him. = 

Near Debreezin, in Hungary, is a fire which has lasted for forty-one years. It is 
kept tp in consonance with an old custom existing in the family of M. Avyari, a local 
landed proprietor. When M. Avyari was born, forty-one years ago, the fire was lighted. 
It will not be extinguished until his death. 

In the same house exists another fire twelve years old, lighted on the eldest sofi’s 
birthday. This in turn will be kept alive till the son’s death; and when an heir shall be 
born to him a third fire will be lighted. In the eighteenth century four fires were going 
at the same time, the oldest being that of a great-grandfather, the youngest that of his 
great-grandson. f : : 

A fire of a different kind has burned for over eleven years in South Russia. Jn 1807 
an underground conflagration took place in a /coal-mine in the Donets district. All 
attempts to extinguish it proved fruitless, and there is a raging furnace still underneath 
the ground. 

In Siam is a fire which not only lasts for years, but has “lineal descendants.” In a 
Buddhist temple at Bangkok the priests, every fourth New Year, light a fresh fire in a 
big brazier. This fire is kept alive for four years, and extinguished after supplying a 
brand to light its successor. The practise has been carried on for more than two cen- 
turies, so that the Bangkok fire is, in a sense, the oldest in the world. 

A fire which it is death to extinguish, and which has been kept alive for seventy 
years, exists at Sarhad, in Persia. The Persians are rigid Mohammedans, and regard 
their former fire-worshiping faith with detestation. But nearly three-quarters of a 
century ago a pious Parsee who had come to trade at Sarhad saved the Persian grand 
vizier’s life from an assassin. In gratitude the then Shah ordered that the fire lighted by 
the Parsee should be kept alive forever, on pain of death to any one who extinguished it. 

At Slapstones, England, near Osmotherly, a village on the Yorkshire moors, is an 
unpretentious inn called the Chequers, that has been occupied by the same family for over 
one hundred years, during which time the big fire in the kitchen has never been out. 











SYNOPSIS. OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. 


alarmed by the fact that the captain has not appeared and the vessel is off its course. 


Joae REDMUND, purser on the City of Kingston and the hero of the story, is 


Redmund is sent for by the captain and finds him in a state of helpless terror in his 
stateroom. Redmund captures a spy outside the window whom he discovers to be a 
beautiful woman that he had seen among the passengers and fallen in love with. 

A wireless message comes for Richard Larsen, the first mate, from Port of Spain, 


saying that the party he was looking for is on the steamer. 
a question, and in reply to the wireless, telegraphs “ 


Larsen asks the woman spy 
yes.” 


In the middle of a dense fog, the vessel is suddenly sent forward at full speed. The 


first mate means to wreck the ship. 


the mate is overpowered, but at that instant the ship strikes a reef. 


With the aid of Browne, the captain’s steward, 


The captain 


gives Redmund a message to send by the wireless, and he discovers that the instruments 
have been wrecked. He returns to the captain’s cabin and finds that the captain has been 


_. murdered. There, he is attacked by Larsen and the message wrested from him. The 





ship is abandoned, the girl Redmund loves going off with Larsen. 
In New York he seés the sign 


oned in the cabin, but contrives to escape. 


Redmund is impris- 
“Remirez & 


Co.” and remembers that it was to this firm that the captain’s message was addressed. 


The text, which was in cipher, he has forgotten. 
“Tt means millions for us both,” he says. 


ber it. 


\ 


CHAPTER XI. 
An Attempt at Murder. 


STOOD staring at the man aghast. That 
he spoke the truth, there could be no 
doubt. His strange words and stranger 
manner were alike impressive. 

But his offer of millions scarcely stirred 
my pulses. What affected me was the cer- 
tainty, which I now had, that the man 
opposite me possessed the key to the mys- 
tery which had swept me along in its train, 
which had well-nigh cost my life. 

I sprang forward and clutched him by the 
arm. 

“You know the secret which cost the life 
of the woman I love,” I cried. “Tell it to 
me, tell it to me!” 

“JT will tell you nothing,” 
sharply, “until you have revealed to me the 
contents of the captain’s message.” 


Resend in the June Live Wite. 
Se: 


= 
he answered 


Remirez tells him that he must remem- 


“have I not told 
nothing of it— 


“Man,” I exclaimed, 
you that I remember 
nothing?” 

With one bound he sprang to the table 
and, seizing the code which lay there, thrust 
it in his pocket. Then once more he turned 
toward me, and never have I seen a fiercer 
expression of rage upon any human coun- 
tenance. 

“You lie!” he hissed. “Curse you, you 
lie! You came here in order that you 
might trick me into showing you this code, 
so that you yourself might understand the 
message. You thought to fool me with a 
game like that.” His voice had risen to a 


shriek and his whole frame shook with 


passion. 

“JT will show you. You shall ot ieee 
this room until you have told me every 
word the captain wrote, and if you refuse : 
to tell me, by Heaven, I'll. kill, ya es 
Single cope 2 10 cents. Sa 








As he spoke, he drew a revolver from a 
drawer in his desk and pointed it full at 
my breast. Taken completely by surprise, I 
fell back until I stood against the wall, 
staring at him in amazement. I was not 
frightened. I had passed too close to the 
gates of death ever to fear them again. 

But his manner had intensified the mys- 
tery that surrounded me, and more than 
ever was I possessed with a desire to learn 
what it all meant. In order to satisfy this 
desire I would have to live. And in order 
to live I would have to overcome the man 
who stood before me, for there was no 
disguising the fact that he meant. every 
_ word he said. 

We stood facing one another for a time 
in absolute silence. Then I raised my hand 
imploringly toward him. I caused it to 
tremble markedly as I did so. 

“Don’t shoot,” I whispered hoarsely. “I 
will tell you everything.” 

His little black eyes ‘sparkled with satis- 
faction at my words and he moistened his 
thick, red lips with a scarlet, snake-like 
tongue. 

“Well,” he exclaimed in a voice which 


“quavered and shook. “Tell me—and 
hurry.” 

“T must see the code again first,’ I 
muttered. 


He paused and looked at me suspiciously. 
It is impossible to describe the suspense that 
T endured as he stood there hesitating. 
Should he divine my subterfuge, I felt cer- 
tain that he would kill me without the 
slightest qualm. There was mo mercy in 
those cruel, black eyes. 

All at once ke ceased his inspection of me 
and nodded with satisfaction. 

“Very well,” he said, “I will show it to 
you.” 

As he spoke, he drew the paper from his 
pocket and walked with it to his desk. It 
was that movement that I counted upon. 
Just as he turned to cross to the desk, I 
crouched and sprang upon him as swiftly 
and silently as a tiger springs upon his prey. 

The action took him utterly by surprise. 
Before he could draw himself together, I 
had borne him to the floor, at the same time 
wresting the pistol from his grasp. He 
made a feeble attempt at resistance and 
then, seeing that this was useless, opened 
his mouth to ery aloud for help. 

I divined his purpose just in time. Be- 
fore he could fill his lungs with breath, I 
hit him a smashing blow upon the jaw. 
He gave a grunt of pain—it was almost a 

-yelp—and then his eyes rolled up until one 
could see nothing of them but the whites — 
that were soiled and bloodshot. 

After that he lay quite still. 


oa ¥ 





BY MEAD RECKONING. ==: 
Jumping to my feet, =f seized the code. = 
from the desk and, folding it, placed it in — 
Then I went quietly out, 


my pocket. 
closing the door behind me. : 
In the outer office, I encountered the 
clerk who had stopped me when I first 
entered.. He gazed at me curiously. 


“Mr. Remirez does-not wish to be dis- 


turbed for an hour,’ I told him. Then, 
opening the door, I passed out into the 
crowd that throngs Wall Street. 

That the clerk would disobey my injunc- 
tion I had no fear. I had gained enough 
knowledge of Remirez’s character during 
my short interview with him to convince me 
that his employees. would not take any 
order of his lightly. So, with no fear of 
pursuit, I made my way leisurely enough 
toward Broadway. 


At the corner of that thoroughfare, how-- 


ever, a singular thing occurred. Above the 
roar of the traffic and the noise of the 
hurrying thousands, clearly and distinctly I 
heard a man’s voice speak my name. The 
voice came from directly behind me. 

“That's him, that’s John Redmund,” I 
heard it say. 

Like a flash, I_swung about. There was 
no one near me. Moreover, there was no 
doorway into which the speaker might have 
disappeared. The thing was inexplicable. 
For a few moments I stood staring into the 
faces of the passers-by. Not one was 
familiar to me. 

Plainly the voice had been nothing but the 
creation of my overcharged nerves. With 
a sigh I turned and went upon my way. 

But almost at once a queer sensation 
possessed me. I became certain that I was 
being followed. No matter in what direc- 
tion I turned, no matter where I went, I 
could not shake the impression off. At last 
it became a certainty. I was sure that 
some one had recognized me, and had 
pointed me out to the person who was fol- 
lowing me at the moment I had heard my 
name mentioned. 

Who could it be? Obviously it was not 
Remirez, since there was little question but 
what he would remain helpless from the 
blow I had struck him for at least half an 
hour. Besides, I had not told him my 
name. 

Who else could have a reason for shadow- 
ing me? No one. The thing was stupefy- 
ing. ; 

I made a dozen attempts to discover the 
identity of the mysterious man who was 
dogging my footsteps, to gain at least one 
glimpse of his face. Always I was baffled. 
Then I tried my utmost to shake him off 
my trail. In this, too, I failed. — 

I cannot begin to describe the eery sensa- 









etme f 











<= tion this strange shadowing created in me. 
~ Up and down the city streets I went, my 


‘unseen pursuer always at my heels. All day 

long the chase lasted, until at last night fell, 
and in despair I sought refuge in my hotel. 
_ Even there I was unable to escape my 
hidden tormentor. Scarcely had I reached 
my room before I became conscious that 
some one was moving about in the one ad- 
joining it, to which there was a connecting 
door. With a certainty that would not be 
denied, my instinct told me that it was the 
man who had been following me_all day 
long whom I heard there. 

A wave of terror swept over me. I do 
not think that I am a greater coward than 
most men; but to be watched as I had been 
watched, to be followed as I had been fol- 


- lowed, while the pursuer remained always 


unseen, was a fearful’ ordeal. 

_ After a time the noises in the adjoining 
room ceased. Finally I became convinced 
that my nerves had played me false. No 
doubt the man in there was no more than a 
traveler like myself. Even if he were the 
person who had been following me, he 
could do me no harm, since the door be- 
tween ts was securely locked. With my 
mind almost at ease, I undressed and went 
to bed. After a time I fell into a troubled 
sleep. 

How long F slept, I cannot say. All at 
once, however, I awoke. My limbs were 
cold and trembling when I opened my eyes. 

The room was in utter black darkness. 
For a moment I lay absolutely still, vainly 
wondering what it was that had awakened 
me. There was not a sound, though I 
waited and waited with straining ears. This 
reassured me. No doubt some nightmare 
had possessed me and I had awakened in 
the fear of it. 

Just as I reached this comforting con- 
clusion, I felt something that made my 
whole soul turn sick with terror. It was a 
cold draft of air sweeping over me. It 
came not from the direction of the room in 
which the windows were, but from a di- 
rectly opposite-one—from the door of the 
adjoining room. Unquestionably, that door 
had been opened. 


CHAPTER XII. 
A Woman’ s Face. 


,ESPITE my fears, my mind remained 
active. With the certainty that I was 
right and that the door~ had been opened, 


came also- the certainty that my fears 
earlier in ‘the evening had been justified. = 


‘There was no longer the least doubt in 


my mind es ae the man in that room 








‘THE LIVE WIRE. So 


was the man who had followed me during 
the whole. preceding day. 

But was he in that room still? Had he 
by this time crept silently into mine? Plain-— 
ly enough, he had opened the door to make 
this possible. 

He meant to murder me. Even at that 
moment, I remember that the mystery of 
the attack puzzled me. Why should any 
man desire to take my life? TI could find 
no answer to the riddle. 

It is needless to say that I wasted no 
time in trying to solve the problem. My 
one desire was to escape the mysterious 
assassin, and in escaping him to obtain: a 
glimpse of his face. 

All at once I remembered the electric 
bulb which hung on one of the bedposts, 
and by pressing which the electric lights 
could be switched on. I stretched out my 
hand toward it, but, to my dismay, I dis- 
covered that it was beyond my reach. It 
would be necessary for me to move in order 
to place my hand upon it. That movement 
would awaken the suspicions of the in- 
truder. It might, perhaps, cause him to 
spring upon me and deal me the fatal blow. 

For an instant longer I lay silent, consid- 
ering the matter. Then I heard a sound 
that galvanized me into action. Some one 
was creeping across the room toward me. 
I sprang toward the bulb and missed it. 
But the creaking of the mattress saved my 
life. At the noise of it I heard something 
fall to the floor, after which hurried foot- 
steps crossed the room, and the door that 


_ had been opened was swiftly closed. 


All this time I had been fumbling about 
for the electric switch. As the door closed 
I found it, and the room was flooded with 
a brilliant light. I leaped from the bed and 
started to cross to the door. In the center 
of the room I saw something glistening and 
gleaming in the light. 

Stooping, I picked it up. It was a cruelly ~ 
sharp knife, such as sailors are accustomed 
to carry. For a moment I stopped and ex- 
amined it for some mark that might reveal 
the identity of the owner, but there was 
none. It was some unknown person who 
was seeking to murder me. 

Filled with rage at the thought and heed- 
less of the consequences, I sprang to the 
door of the adjoining room. Once for all I 
meant to have the matter settled. I would 
have the life that sought mine, or forfeit 
mine in attempting to take it. : 

But again I was baffled. The door was 
securely locked. In my anger, I beat against 


it with all my strength, crying aloud de- — 


fiance to my mysterious enemy. There was — 
no answer. — 
- Presently, while x was" still calling ‘to my 




















enemy, there came a sharp rap upon my 
own door. One of the clerks of the hotel 
stood upon the threshold. 


“What is the matter, Mr. Redmund?” he 


asked. “ Why are you creating this disturb- 
ance? ” 
Impulsively, I told him my story. He 


BY DEAD RECKONING. = 





“1st 


and made ready for a guest. Hans Yas 
I was more certain than ever that I had not — 
been deceived, for when the clerk threw - 
open the door the same draft of cold air 
that I had felt as I lay upon my bed rushed 
over me. ~ 

I. said nothing of this to the man, It 

1 





AFTER THAT HE LAY QUITE STILL. 


JUMPING TO MY FEET, I SEIZED THE CODE FROM THE DESK 


AND, FOLDING IT, PLACED IT IN MY POCKET. 


Jistened with polite incredulity. When I 
had finished, he raised his eyebrows. 

“There is some mistake, Mr. Redmund,” 
he said. 
next to yours for at least a week.” 

Maddened by his doubts, I began to re- 
peat my story. He interrupted me with an 
offer to show me the room, and, drawing a 
pass-key from his pocket, opened the con- 
necting door. 


~The room was absolutely empty. - Mare 
There was 


over, it was in perfect order. 
nothing ta show that anybody had spent 
five Tie there, since it had Soe cle: ned 





“No one has occupied the room 


=i -sallied forth into the streets. 


would have been useless, I knew, and, be- 
sides, if my enemies learned that I had been 
convinced that I was mistaken, they would 
be lulled into a sense of false security. 
Therefore, waiving all question of the dirk, 
I apologized as best I could to the clerk for 
my disturbance, bade him good night, and 
locked the door behind him. Then, with the 
knife in my hand, I pettise down to wait 


for the morning. 


— It came at last and, putting on my clothes, 
Anything — 


was better than waiting in those rooms. As 


on the day before, the same strange sensa- 


: sss (ers —— ere e af 
om = cs 3 





tion of being watched possessed me. No 
matter where I turned, no matter where IT 
_ went, I was certain that my footsteps were 
~ dogged. 

What a day it was! Even now I shud- 
der when I think of it. ‘When, at length, it 
was over and twilight had fallen, I could 
not bear the thought of returning to my 
room and waiting for another attack upon 
my: life. 

The grand-opera season was then at its 
height, and upon that night a famous 

_ prima donna was to make her first New 
- York appearance in “Carmen.” There was 
a great crowd upon Broadway, all seeming- 
ly bound for the opera-house, and it oc- 
curred to me that here was the opportunity 
I sought. By attending the opera I could 
either lose my pursuer or, at least, obtain a 
sight of his face. 

Turning into the lobby of the opera- 
house, I procured a ticket, which entitled me 
to standing-room upon the lower floor. 
Just as 1 entered, the vast orchestra broke 
into the wonderful overture. Its melody 
soothed my tired spirit, and for the first 
time since those awful days upon the City 
of Kingston my weary heart found rest. 
Moreover, since I had passed through the 
doorway my sensation of being watched had 
ceased altogether. 

For two acts I remained spellbound, en- 
‘chanted by the witchery of the opera. It 

“ was not until the curtain had dropped for 

the second time that I took occasion to ex- 
amine the audience closely. Then, leaning 
against the railing which barred me from 
the orchestra seats, I took a leisurely sur- 
vey of the theater. = 

Slowly my eyes traveled over the crowd 
of the lower floor until, at last, I raised 
them to the grand tier of boxes. From box 
to box my gaze wandered until, at last, they 
reached one directly across from where I 
was standing. Lazily, my eyes examined its 
occupants. 

I was still intent upon them, when the 
door at the back was flung open, and a 
woman came in. She was tall and slender, 
dressed in a close-fitting frock of black, 
from which her gloriously white neck sprang 
up like ivory. About her throat was a col- 
lar of priceless diamonds, which flashed and 
gleamed beneath the lights of the theater. 

As she reached the front of the box, and 
before seating herself, she turned to survey 
the crowd. In doing so her glance met mine. 
For a time—it seemed a long, long time— 
her eyes lingered on my face. Then all at 
once her beautiful face grew white as death, 
and, tottering back, she sank into a chair. 

As for me, I stood rooted to the spot. 
For the woman in the box was the woman 








‘THE LIVE WIRE. 


” 





IT had met and loved upon the decks of the 
City of Kingston—the woman whom I be- - 
lieved to have perished miserably at sea. 





CHAPTER XIII. 
Hast Thou Found Me, Oh, Mine Enemy > 


HILE I stood staring at her, the cur-— 
tain rose and the opera continued. 
But no tonger did its beauty affect me. For 
the stage I had no eyes. 

A hundred wild thoughts were dashing 
madly through my brain. Once again the ; 
mystery of the voyage of the City of Kings- 
ton had taken possession of me. Here was 
I face to face with the most curious feature 
of it. The one ship’s boat that had been 
reported missing had unquestionably reached 
shore safely. 

Even now I was gazing at one of the 
passengers. That I had not been misled 
by a marvelous resemblance was certain. 
The woman’s behavior upon catching a 
glimpse of me fully proved that. But what. 
could it all mean? What dark secret lay at 
the bottom of these strange happenings? 

While I was still turning these questions 
over in my mind, there was a sudden move- 
ment in the box, and I saw her arise and 
quickly throw her cloak around her. She 
meant, to escape me. 

Naturally, I had no intention of permit- 
ting such a thing to happen. Fortunately, I 
was somewhat familiar with the opera-~ 
house, and knew that the exit for those who 
had private carriages was separate from the 
main entrance. It was to the former that 
I bent my steps, and in the lobby there I 
met her. 

She was leaning upon the arm of one of 
the men who had been in the box—a man 
whom I had never seen before—and the ter- 
ror in her eyes as she saw me went straight 
to my heart. Nevertheless, I was not to be 


deterred. Going directly toward her, I 
raised my hat. In return, she held out her 
hand to me. 


“You, Mr. Redmtund?” she said, and that 
was all. 

“Yes,” I answered, taking her hand, “it’s 
I, but I scarcely expected to see you here.” 

“Oh,” she exclaimed brightly, “I am not 
such a barbarian that I do not go to the 
opera occasionally.” Bowing to me once 
mote, she made as if to proceed to her car- 
riage. : ee 

I was standing directly in front of her, 
and, despite her action, I made not the 
slightest movement to g 
whose arm she still retained, though she had 


‘not introduced us, frowned with surprise at ~ 


_my rudeness, and I saw the girl draw a_ 


: = cae 








give way. The man 














BY DEAD 





quick, sharp breath of obvious disappoint- 
ment. 

“You will pardon me,” I said steadily, 
“but I cannot permit you to pass until I 
have spoken to you—and alone,” I added, 
looking significantly at her escort. 

His face went white with anger. 

“You will not permit this lady to pass?” 
-he exclaimed. ‘‘ We shall see.” 

He lifted a heavy walking-stick he car- 
ried in his hand, as if about to bring it down 
upon me. Before he could do so, however, 
the girl had stepped between us. 

“The gentleman is quite right,” she cried 
sharply to her escort. “ You will excuse me 
for a moment.” ; 

He looked at her in surprise. Then he 
lowered his stick and, raising his hat, moved 
away without a word beyond hearing dis- 
tance. The girl turned her white face to me. 

“Well,” she asked in a low voice, ‘“ what 
is it you want?” 

“The truth,” I whispered back to her, 
“and the whole truth. I must know every- 
thing.” 

Her eyes were wide with terror. 

“T cannot tell you now,’ she murmured. 
“F cannot tell you here.” 

“But you must tell me,” I persisted; 
“and if not now, where and when can I see 
you? You are in trouble, I am sure. Heaven 
knows I only wish to serve you—to be your 
friend.” 

With a gesture that was infinitely pathetic, 
she stretched forth her hands and caught 
hold of mine. Heedless of the curious 

glances of the loungers, she held them 
tightly in her own. 

“Tisten,”’ she said softly. “On that aw- 
ful night in the cabin of, the City of Kings- 
ton you told me that you loved | me. If 
you spoke the truth, prove it now.’ 

The unshed tears that brimmed in those 

_ glorious eyes of hers wrung my _ heart- 
strings. 

“How can I do that?” I demanded. 
“ How? ” 

“By letting me go now and never seeing 
me again,” she answered. 

For a moment I almost yielded. Some- 
thing in her manner seemed to convince me 
that what she asked was best for us both. 
But I steeled myself, as a great jealousy of 
‘Larsen swept over me. 

“Tt is impossible,” I answered her coldly. 
“Absolutely impossible.” 

An ominous fire flashed into her eyes. 
“Mr. Redmund,” she said, and her voice 


2: was ‘crisp and cold, “if you do not let me 
—--pass I will” appeal to my escort. and: the 


: police.” ; 
~~ J was beaten, and I knew it. Tf y ‘hols 





: attempt to tell my wild story to the officers - 





~S 


RECKONING. Se Ass 


of the law I “woekd be te at for my 


pains. Moreover, she would vanish from 
me forever, and her identity would still re- 
main a mystery. I still had one last card, 
and I resolved to ‘play it. 

“You are mad,” I whispered, my face 
close to hers, “quite mad. You are throw- 
ing away a great chance. I have. gained 
possession of Captain Peters’s cipher-code, 
and now I can translate his message.” 

I had spoken the words at random, with- 
out the least idea whether they would be 
meaningless to her or not. As it happened, 
their effect was most extraordinary. Her 
eyes dilated, and a soft color stole into her 
cheeks. Quickly she stretched out her hand 
toward me, checked the gesture, and re- 
covered her self-possession, 

“Tf I tell you how you may see me again, 
you will curse the day you were born,” she 
whispered in a voice that shook, despite her 
every effort. “Do you still persist in ask- 
ing it?” ; ; 

“Yes,” I replied. 


“Then come to the wharf at the foot of : 


East Twenty-Second Street at midnight to- 
night,” she breathed. “A launch will be 
waiting there to bring you to me.’ With 
that she was gone. 

In a daze, I wandered back into the audi- 
torium. But the music and the crowd no 
longer attracted me. 


an I loved once more. That very night she 


was to explain at last the mystery of our — 


strange voyage. 
piness. 

I remained in the theater until the opera 
was over, and then drifted out with the 
crowd into the brightly lighted thorough- 
fare. The sensation of being followed no 
longer haunted me. I cared not a_ whit 
whether I was or not. I thought only of 
the woman I was about to see once more, 
and dreamed of the joy of the meeting. 

Never once did the place and time of the 


I was fairly mad with hap- 


appointment strike me as suspicious. If I 


thought of it at all, I explained it as being 
necessary for secret reasons which con- 
cerned only her. That it might mean peril 
to me, was the farthest thing from my 
thoughts. When at last the time for our 
appointment was come, it was with a light 
heart that I hailed a cabman and bade him 
drive me to the wharf at the foot of East 
Twenty-Second Street. 

The journey was made without incident; 
and scarcely had I put my foot on the wharf, 


when a sailor, dressed in the neat suk = S 


of a private yacht, approached. 
“You are Mr. Redmund?” he asked. 
“Yes,” I responded. 


He did not speak again, but ted ‘me in ae 


lence to the is “at the end of the ess 





I had seen the wom-_ 





= 











ot 








acpi Se 





‘A motor-boat was moored there, and in re- 
sponse to his gesture I boarded her. In- 
stantly the swift little craft darted out into 
the dark waters of the East River, and, turn- 
‘ing southward, scudded along among the 
shipping. 

When we had been gone from the pier, 
perhaps fifteén minutes, the engine stopped. 
Apparently we had reached our destination, 
and, shifting my seat, I glanced ahead. We 
were bearing down directly upon a yacht, 
a slim and delicate vessel, one of the most 
beautiful I have ever seen. 

That our visit was expected was apparent, 
for L saw two men leaning against a rail 
ready to catch‘a line. 

With perfect skill, the steersman brought 
us alongside. A second later I was making 
-mty way up the stairway that led over the 

yacht’s side. 

On the deck she met me. Never had I 
seen her look so beautiful as she did then. 

She had discarded her severe black frock 
for one of light and filmy white, which 
foamed and rippled about the slender curves 
of her beautiful figure. A lace wrap of the 
same color was thrown over her head in a 
Spanish fashion, and beneath it her great, 
dark eyes seemed to shine more gloriously 
than ever. 45 

Without a word, I went toward her, my 

hand stretched forth. Without a word, she 
took it, and for a time we stood looking at 
each other in silence. Presently a shiver 
ran over her delicate frame. 

“Go,” she whispered. “Go, before it is 
too late.” ; 

“J will never leave you again,” I breathed. 
“Never again.” 

She opened her lips to speak once more, 
but before she could do so I saw the old 
look of crushing fear steal into her eyes. 
While it still burned there, a heavy hand 
was laid on my shoulders, and a voice I 
knew and hated said: 

“So our guest has arrived in safety, ch? # 

Like a flash, I swung around and faced 
the speaker. He was Richard Larsen, the 
first mate of the City of Kingston. Once 
more we were face to face. 


. 


CHAPTER XIV. 
The Cipher Despatch. 


hg the moment of silence which followed 
my recognition of the man I felt once 
more the old unreasoning fear which he 
always inspired in me. Just for an instant 


it held sway, and then the hate [had 


been treasuring in my heart swelled up 
and overcame it. But even in that moment 


? 


i 2 ae te WiRE 





I realized how great the odds were against 
me, and resolved to depend on strategy. 

“Ves,” I replied, lightly enough, “I am 
here all right. But I had hoped that my 
visit would be a surprise to you.” 

As I spoke, I turned back to the woman I 
loved, as’ though seeking confirmation for 
my words. She had vanished. 

Not until then did the deadly menace of 
the trap into which I had stumbled strike 
me with full force. Why had she not told 
me that this would be the result of my 
coming? My heart grew hot with rage at 
her. Then the voice of the first mate 
reached my ears. 

“And now that you are*here,” he said 
easily, “I am reminded that our hospitality 
is shockingly at fault. Won’t you walk 
down into my cabin?” : 

“Said the spider to the fly,” I jeered. 

One quick glance about had shown me the 
uselessness of any attempt to escape. I 
must match my wits against his and trust 
them to bring me through safely. 

“My dear Redmund,” he said smoothly, 
“T never would think of attributing to you 
the guilelessness of a fly, while surely you 
cannot believe that I have the venom of a 
spider, since now we meet in friendship, 
when-you remember how we last parted.” 

“Ves,” I responded bitterly, “I remember 
perfectly.” 

Thé man’s coolness was maddening. His 
only retort to my angry words was a light 
laugh, after which he turned and led the 
way toward the companionway. In no other 
way could he have shown more completely 
his utter contempt for me. His action left 
him wholly unprotected from a sudden at- 
tack. I could have stabbed him in the back 
with ease. 

Yet he was sure that I would not do this, 
and in my heart I cursed myself that I had 
not the courage—or the cowardice—to do so. 
I knew that he would not have hesitated to 
use stich an advantage over me, and yet my 
scruples. prevented me from using it on him. 
So, meekly, I followed him. 

He led me into a cabin richly and taste- 
fully furnished. Sinking into a chair, he 
motioned me to another, watching, mean- 
while, with an amused expression, the won- 
der on my face as I examined the splendor 
of the appointments. > 

“Tt is beautiful,’ he said. 
proud of our yacht.” 

Our yacht. Again that hateful phrase’ 
linking his name with hers, for I could un- 
derstand it in no other way. It caused the 
passion. which was penned in my breast to 
blaze forth with a fierce fury. With a cry, 


“We are very 


T- sprang to my feet and grappled with him. 


“What is that woman to you?” [ de-' 














BY DEAD RECKONING. 185- 








“YOU WILL NOT PERMIT THIS LADY TO PASS?” HE EXCLAIMED. “WE SHALL SEE.” HE LIFTED 
A HEAVY WALKING-STICK HE CARRIED IN HIS HAND, AS IF ABOUT TO BRING 
: IT DOWN UPON ME. 








ae: 
— 





~ manded. “Curse you! What is that woman 


to you?” : : 
“With one movement of his great body, he 


threw me from him-as though I had been 


a child. But though he met my attack with 
a laugh, I saw that those cruel, colorless 
eyes of his were gleaming dangerously. 

“Vou are to remember,” he announced 
shortly, “that you have been. brought here 
to answer questions, not to ask them.” 

“What have I been brought here to an- 
swer?” I asked, still breathing heavily. 

He rose and drew from his pocket a 
paper. The instant my eyes fell upon it I 
recognized it. It was the despatch to gain 
possession of which he had murdered Gap- 
‘tain Peters and had attempted to murder 
me. Smoothing it out before me, he said 
slowly : 

“T want you to tell me the meaning of 
this.” 

“Tt is’ impossible,” I answered. “I can- 
not.” : 

“You are lying!” he exclaimed, and took 
a step toward me. 

“J am telling the truth,” I cried, “the 
plain truth. Captain Peters always kept 
possession of his code himself. I never 
saw it in my life. He destroyed it the 
moment this despatch was written.” 

For an instant his colorless eyes scru- 
tinized me. . 

“But since his death you have come upon 
another copy.” 

“ No.” 

“Then why did you say last night to that 
girl in the opera-house that you could 
translate this despatch?” 

She had betrayed me—she had betrayed 
me doubly. Oh, the agony of it! The 
shame that I should love a woman so false! 
My whole being revolted at the thought of 
her. Yet I had no intention of permitting 
her treachery to succeed. 

“T lied,” 1 cried boldly. “I lied in order 
that she might make an appointment with 
me.” = = 

A wave of doubt swept over his face. 
My words surprised and stunned him. For 
a space he stood hesitating. Then, turning 
to the table, he rang a bell which stood 
upon it. Almost instantly a servant re- 
sponded. 

“You rang, sir?” he asked deferentially. 

The latter nodded. 

“Ves,” he said. “Send the seforita to 
me at once.” : : 

The man bowed and withdrew. In si- 
lence we stood steadily staring into each 


~ other’s eyes, until a rustle of skirts told us 


‘that she had come. Larsen looked at her. — 


~ “ Senorita,” he exclaimed, “Mr. Redmund 


“has just stated that when he told you in the 


en 











= es Den arte 


> =i E ee 


a Tage WIRE 


opera-house this evening that’ he could = 
translate this despatch he lied. He says that — 
his object in making such a statement was 


4o induce you to make an appointment with 


him. Do you think he is telling the truth 
now?” 

As he finished, I raised my eyes for the 
first time since she had been in the room 
and gawed at her. Her face was white as 
paper, and the hand that touched the neck- 
lace around her throat was trembling vio- 
lently. In her eyes there was such a look of 
pain as I have seldom seen. But she faced 
me without wavering, and her voice was 
calm and steady as she answered: 

“We is lying now.” 

I covered my face with my hands as I 
heard her. To know that she, who was so 
beautiful, was yet so base seemed more than 
I could bear. For a time we three stood 
so in silence. Presently there was a stir in 
the room, and I opened my eyes again. 
Two sailors had entered. ; 

“Seize and bind that man,” Larsen or- 
dered crisply, pointing toward me. 

Without the slightest hesitation, the two 
men sprang upon me and overpowered me. 
In a trice they had fastened my ankles to- 


gether and my wrists behind my back. This 


done, they threw me on the sofa, and turned 
again toward Larsen. And all the time the. 
woman whom I loved and who had betrayed 
me stood silent in a corner, intently watch- 
ing. 

At a sharp word, the sailors departed. 
The instant they left the room, Larsen came 
and bent over’ me. Never had the hateful, 
evil grin, which habitually widened his 
brutal mouth, seemed more horrible. Never 
had the colorless eyes glowed more cruelly. 

He stooped over me and began systemat- 
ically to search my pockets. It was not 
long before he came upon the paper he de- 
sired. At a glance, he recognized it. = 

Springing back to the table, he spread it 
out upon it, laying the despatch at its side. 
The girl gave a glad cry, and I saw her eyes 
sparkle with triumph as she joined him. 

Bending over the papers, she hastily 
seized a pencil and with almost incredible 
speed began to translate the cryptic des- 
patch. In a minute or two she had com- 
pleted her task. Waving the paper on which 
she had been writing high above her head, 
she cried in a loud voice: 

“T have it at last—I have it!” 

He snatched the paper, and, as he eagerly 


scanned it, he read the words out loud. 


They were: : / 
The steamer is wrecked on a hidden 
reef, longitude, 83 west, latitude, 22 
north. The rocks will prevent her 
from drifting. oxen = 


Mga é 











= 


~ ‘That was all. The captain’s strange des- 
patch had been merely his dead reckoning 
: of the Jocation of the disaster, but its effect 
= upon the two people before me was most 
remarkable. They were mad with joy. For 
a moment neither spoke. Both stood look- 
= ing at their prize with glistening eyes. Then 
= _ the first mate opened his lips, and oddly 
aa enough repeated the words that Remirez 
= had addressed to me the day before.: : 
; “Tt means millions,” he whispered softly. 
“A fortune for us both.” 











== CHAPTER XV. 
The Escape. 


AFTER that a full five minutes must have 
elapsed during which he gloated in 
+ silence over the paper. Then all at once 
he roused himself to action. Ringing the 
bell, he sent for one of the officers and 
ordered him to make preparations to start 

~ at once. 

Almost instantly the whole ship was alive 
with preparations for departure. As he 
heard them, he’ smiled with satisfaction, 
then.turned toward me. 

I quailed before his glance. It is one 
thing tozface death fighting in the open; it 
is another to face it bound and helpless. 
And in those cruel, cold eyes of his I read 
the warrant of my death. Yet I did not cry 
out nor tremble. I did not even close my 
“eyes. Since I had to die before her whom 
I loved, I meant to die without disgrace. 

For a long time Larsen favored me with 
that deadly stare. Then slowly he drew a 
revolver from his pocket. With maddening 
care, he examined this. When at last he 
had satisfied himself that it was loaded and 
ready, he leaned over toward me, gloating. 

“My friend,” he said, “it is one of the 
rules of my life to go back and finish any 
job I happen to leave uncompleted. I 
tried to kill you once and failed. This time 
there shall be no such mistake.” 

Even as he spoke? he had lifted his re- 
volver and was pointing it at me. But be- 
fore he could pull the trigger, there came a 
sudden flash of skirts, a quick, breathless 

: ery, and the woman had leaped between us. 
~ “You must not do it!” she cried. “You 
must not kill him! I will not let you!” 





‘Even in the face of death the words 
She cared enough, then, to 
For a moment I was almost 


thrilled me. 
_ spare my life. 
_ happy. 


ae ink what he knows. He 
















ing in a moment, and, besides, wit 


BY DEAD RECKONING. — ~ 







me as I saw she had a knife in 





ets 


knowledge of the location he now has, he 
could baffle us, even yet.” i 

“But we could hold him a prisoner,” she 
whispered. “We could take him with us.” 

For a moment hope rose in my breast; 
the next instant it had vanished, for I heard = 
him say: Se 

“As long as he lives he is a danger to- 
both of us.. He must die.” 

Her answer filled me with horror: 

“But not on board the yacht. The sailors 
would know that it gave them a hold upon 
us.’ “ 

His evil face grinned its appreciation of 
her wisdom, ~ 


“That’s true,” he answered, “but how 
are we going to do it, then?” 
“T’ll tell you,” she replied. “Take him 


in a small boat, bound and helpless as he is. 
When you are safely away from us, a knife 
or a pistol ””—she shrugged her shoulders— 
“as you decide—and the thing is done with- 
out trouble.” 

The tears rushed into my eyes as I heard 
her. Of all the horrors that I had endured 
this was the greatest, to lie bound and 
gagged and helpless, while the woman to 
whom I had given my heart calmly planned 
my murder before me. The cold-blooded 
wickedness of it was ghastly. 

It was evident that the mate approved of 
her plan. For a time he considered it in 
silence. Then he nodded his head. 

. “You're right,” he said, rising to his feet. 

At that ee a sudden thrill ran 
through the vessel; the anchor was up and 
the propeller was turning slowly, apparent- 
ly just holding the yacht in position. I saw 
the girl put her hand quickly to her heart 
as she felt the vessel quiver beneath her, 
and it seemed for a moment that she was 
about to faint; but in an instant she was 
calm and self-contained once more. j 

Larsen came directly to where I was lying, 
and picked me up in his arms as though I 
were but a child. Once on deck, he laid 
me near the rail and turned to the girl, who 
had followed us. 

“Watch him,” he said, “ while I see if the 
oars are in the boat.” E : 

She nodded; and without another word, 
he turned and went down over: the side. 

I have never been able to give a clear ac- 
count of what followed. I remember hear- 
ing him call out softly that there were no 
oars in the boat, and bid the girl fetch a 
pair and pass them to him. I remember my 
surprise when, after telling him that she 
would attend to the matter at once, she 
‘made no effort to do so, but instead began — 


: . stealthily toward me, = ee 
I remember the awful horror that shook 
her hand 
= ao eos Pe Ses se 












= 
= 





188 : 


as she advanced. “Did she mean to deal me 
the fatal blow herself? 


I remember that 
she crept past me and stood over the rail. 

Then I saw the knife glisten in the moon- 
light and swiftly descend. In an instant I 
realized that she had cut the rope that held 
the small boat in which :the mate was, the 
rope that held it fast to the yacht. Even 
as my mind grasped this, I heard her clear, 
beautiful- voice raised in a ringing com- 
mand: g 

“Captain,” she cried, “ full steam ahead!” 


_THE LIVE WIRE. Le 


While her voice still rang over the quiet = : 


waters, the screw began to turn vigorously, 
and the vessel forged ahead. I was saved. 
a 


CHAPTER XVI. 
The Voice from the Ether. 


T was not until the yacht was actually 
under way that Larsen realized the trick 
that had been played upon him. I heard 


him cry out aloud in rage, and then came 
































“TLL TELL YOU,” SHE REPLIED, “TAKE HIM IN A SMALL BOAT, BOUND AND HELPLESS AS HE 
+ 18. WHEN YOU ARE SAFELY AWAY FROM US, A KNIFE OR A PISTOL——” = kes 






























--small hand lay unresisting in mine. 





the hacking cough of his revolver, and a 
bullet whistled through the air close to the 
girl’s head. 

Quick as thought, she knelt down, be- 
side me, where the rail protected her. A 
second and a third bullet followed the first. 
As she heard them pass above her, she 


_ Jaughed lightly. 


“The tide is carrying him in the opposite 
direction,” she whispered. “He will soon 
be out of range.” 

‘She said no more, but for a time busied 


herself in cutting me free from the fetters: 


that bound me. When this had been accom- 
plished, I stretched myself and, rising, cau- 
tiously peered over into the dark waters be- 
hind us. In the bright moonlight that threw 
its golden flood upon us, the boat in which 
Larsen had been cut adrift was now merely 
a black speck on the face of the oily wa- 
ters. 

“He is well out of range,” I said, and, 
stretching out my hand, I helped her to her 
feet. For a moment we remained silent, 
gazing into each other’s eyes, while her 
All at 


once my love for her surged up in my 











_she was saying, 


never had a more e 
; been ‘made. 


breast. 

“ Senorita!” I burst out. 

With an imperious gesture, she silenced 
me. 

“Hush!” she said. “You must not speak 
here; come with me into the cabin.” 

She did not wait for an answer, but, dis- 
engaging her hand from mine, turned and 


Jed me back to the deck-house, from which, 


a few moments before, I had been carried, 
bound and helpless. Once there, she care- 
fully locked the door behind her, 

“ Senorita!’ I began once more. 

The look in her eyes silenced me. 

“Wait,” she said sternly, “and hear me 
through in silence” 

I bowed in acquiescence. At last the veil 
of mystery which I had so vainly attempted 
to pierce was to be lifted. At last I would 
know the truth and the whole truth. My 
heart gave a great bound at the thought. 
The next moment I knew that my, expecta- 
tions were in vain. 

“T am sailing upon a desperate venture,” 
“a venture which may cost 
‘not only my life, but the life of every one 
of this ship’s company. I need a friend 
who will help me without question and 
without thought of reward. You have said 
you loved me. Will you be that friend?” 

- I stared at her in amazement. Surely, 
traordinary request 






w herself up proudly. 








haughtily, “ 





BY DEAD RECKONING. _ 


‘ness in that well-nigh perfect time. 
_ eral times when I came upon her suddenly Sey 
ound cher eyes searching the sea. over — 


‘She saw my consternation and : 


have given me 20 Ew 0 ee 
I will not de- ow 


tain you longer. 
you ashore.” 
As she finished, she started to leave the 
cabin. I leaped before her, barring her way. 
“Wait!” I cried. “Let me see if I un- 
derstand you perfectly. You are about to 


sail upon some desperate undertaking which 


may even cost the life of every one aboard 
the yacht. Because, in order to save my life 
you were compelled to part company with 
Larsen, you are in desperate need of some 
one upon whose help you can rely. 

“You have appealed to me, whose life 
you have saved, who has sworn that he 
loves you, to be-the one to give you the help 
you need. If I consent to do so I must 
consent. blindly, absolutely without knowl- 
edge of the purpose of our voyage, except 
that it has something to do with the wreck 

of the City of Kingston. 

“ee Yes. ” 

“T may not even know your name.” 

“Not even that.” 

The secrecy which she persisted in main- 
taining convinced me more firmly than ever 
that the enterprise was criminal. And yet 
something in her eyes, an expression of no- 
bility, which rested upon her beautiful face, 
told me that even if this was so, she at 
least had entered upon it with no wrong in- 
tent. 

If circumstances, too strong for her to 
battle with, had placed her in so dreadful a 
position, was it not the place of the man 
who loved her to share her crime—to take 
the burden of guilt front her innocent shoul- 
ders? If I accompanied her, it might be 
possible for me to save her from the con- 
sequences of her rash act. I might even 
save her life as she had saved mine. 

Taking her hand, I raised it to my lips. 

“Even upon your own hard conditions,” 
T said, “I will follow you to the end of the 
earth, and, if need be, beyond it.” 

A glorious flush dyed her delicate cheeks, 
and a light shone in those beautiful eyes of 
hers. 

“T was strre you would come,” she said. 

There followed a week of glorious sun- 
Shine and opalescent sea. True to my com- 
pact, I never mentioned the object of our 
voyage, nor asked her a question regarding 
herself. I was content to live in the glo- 
rious present. 

Lounging in a deck- chair by her side, I 
watched the flashing waters shining and 
glistening in the sunlight, or listened con- 
tentedly as she read aloud from some novel. 
There was but one cloud upon my happi- 








The motor-boat will put : 


Is that correct?” 


~Sév- | 













TM 


190 


' Sasco,” 


=! '= which I learned in time to look for and to 


dread. : 
_ There was in it a hopeless terror that went 
. straight to my heart. But I never asked the 


cause of her fears, nor did she volunteer 
4 any explanation for them. 


A day came, however, when, inadvertent- 
ly, I discovered their source. It was a gray, 
“rainy afternoon, the: first we had encount- 

ered since leaving New York. We had been 
forced to take refuge in the cabin on the 
deck. The yacht was fitted with- wireless 
telegraphy, and the receiver was in the 
room in which we then were. 

'For the first time during the voyage, it 
now began to buzz and click. “ Yacht, 
eV geht, oascos »— Yachtsyoasco: - 
it ticked out. Some one was calling us. 
With the habit bred of years of custom, I 
strolled over to the instrument and an-, 
swered the call. It was not until after I 
had done so that I saw her face. She had 
gone white to the lips and was trembling 


painfully. 
“What is it?” she asked. 
“Some ‘one is calling us,” I replied. . 


I saw her great eyes darken with appre- 
hension. I saw her press her hand against 
her heart, as though smitten with some 
dreadful pain; I saw her open.her lips, as 
though to speak, but before she could do so 
the metallic ticking of the receiver broke 
in upon the silence. 

“Yacht, Sasco,” it spelled out. “ Remirez 

-and I are following in submarine. Larsen.” 

That was all. Yet, as I repeated aloud the 
words to her, a deadly terror took posses- 
sion of us both. There was something al- 
most supernatural in the way this villain’s 
message came to us in the midst of the 
trackless sea. Presently the receiver began 


. ticking again. 


-“Yacht, Sasco,” it clicked off. “It is a 
disappointment to me to know that my in- 
tention of joining you has not been more 
enthusiastically received. Nevertheless, I 
will persist, and meet you at the wreck of 
the City of Kingston. There I shall have 
‘my revenge. Larsen.” 

I repeated these words aloud as I re- 


bn = Tun Lavi WIRE: 6S, 2 See ee 


g a 


ceived them. As I did so, the picture of the 
first mate rose before me with appalling ~~ 


distinctness, and I saw again those strange, - 
cold, colorless eyes of his, that horrible, 
brutal grin. 

Suddenly I- became ‘aware that she had 
risen, and had crossed to my side. I pulled 
myself together and looked up into her 


face. Theré was an expression there that—— 


was new to me. For the first time I saw it 
clothed.in the humility of despair and sur- 
render. * 

But before she could speak the words 
which I am sure would have acknowledged 
defeat, the door of the cabin was thrown 
open, and the captain of the yacht burst in 
upon us.’ 

“ Senorita,’ he cftied in a loud voice, “ we 
have come to our journey’s end. ‘We have 
found the wreck!” 

We both leaped to our feet and rushed 
to the door., The captain stood there point- 
ing. ; 

As we came upon the deck, -the setting 
sun burst through the clouds and filled the ~ 
world with its glory, painting the sky a bril- 
liant red and the sea a deeper crimson. 
Across the rolling waves our eyes followed 
the captain’s gesture, until, about a mile ~ 
away, where the crimson waves melted into 
gold, I descried, very faintly, the masts of. 
the City of Kingston rising above the mov- 
ing waters. ~ 

What memories they awoke in my bosom! 
I recalled how I had last seen them, a 
wretched outcast clinging to a spar. I re- 
called the scene in the cabin as the ship had 
gone down. I recalled the fight in the en- 
gine-room, the panic upon the deck. : 

Then the voice of the woman beside me 
sounded in my ears. It rang with triumph. 
As I heard it, I turned around and glanced 
at her. : 

All the surrender, all the despair, had 
vanished from her countenance. It was 
alive now with the flush of victory. Lean-— 
ing forward over the rail with parted lips 
and shining eyes, she gazed upon those two 
specks above the sea. 

“T’ve won!” she cried. “I've won!” 


(To be continued.) 











“I’ve got my eye on you, young man, because | think you have it in you to 
become valuable to me; but you lack training—the one thing that is absolutely 


essential to success. 
advance—up goes your salary.” 


As soon as you show me that you are qualified to 


Are you like this young man—got it in you to advance, but lack training? 


There’s a sure way out of the difficulty. 


The International Correspondence Schools 


will show it to you, and advise you, if you will simply mark the coupon. 


ft??s Training that Counts 


The I. C. S. can make you an expert in your chosen line of work whether you 


live in the city, village, or on the 
farm. It can help you whether you 
. work at the forge, the bench, or at the 
desk—regardless of your age or lack 
of capital. The only requirement is the 
ability to read and write. 

During May 205 students 
voluntarily reported salary increases and 
promotions secured wholly through 
1.C.S. training. Wouldn’t you like 
to join them? 

Then, make your marx now for a 
bigger mark and a bigger salary later on. 
Get in the trained class. This is your op- 
portunity. It costs nothing to find out, 


The Business of This Place 
is to Raise Salaries. 


| 
| 
| 
I 


' 
| 
| 
| 
| 
| 
| 


| Name 


International Correspondence Schools, 
Box 837, SCRANTON, PA. 


| Please e: plain, withont further obligation on my part, 
how | can qualify for a larger salary in the posi- 
tion before which I have marked X 


Bookkeeper 
Stenographer 
Advertisement Writer 
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Window Trimmer 
Commercial Law 
Illustrator 

Civil Service 
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Textile Mill Supt. 
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Elec. Engineer 


Mechanical Drafisman 
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Elee. Lighting Supt. 
Mechan. Engineer 
Plumber & Steam Fitter 
Stationary Engineer 
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Building Contractor 
Architee’1 Draftsman 
Architect 
Structural Engineer 
Banking 

Mining Engineer 





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